Charad Street
by freakinwinky
Summary: I had always disapproved of questioning authority. Or questioning anything for that matter. Questions, I thought, would only drive you mad... Then she came into my life. Now questions are all I have. takes place durring OOTP. COMPLETE!
1. Number 13

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. It all belongs to J.K Rowling  
  
A/N another book five spoiler on my part (I just love those). This one begins in April of the fifth book.  
  
Charad Street  
  
Chapter 1: Number 13  
  
Thirteen. I had heard this number whispered around the ministry many times in the past. Most people claimed it was cursed. There were of course the obvious reasons. Superstitions surrounding this number have been flitted about for centuries. The older members of the ministry in the lower brackets often entertained the younger employees with stories of gruesome happenings on April 13, on 13th street, there was even a story of a child who had been bitten by a werewolf on their 13th birthday. These were the old tales, which were brought to discussion only when office gossip was particularly scarce.  
  
I noticed however, that recently new stories had begun to accumulate around this number. These tales were not of far distant lands and deaths long ago. Some of the youngest employees (low ranking of course) seemed to be swapping stories about a room in the ministry of magic its self that bore the number 13.  
  
'.And no one ever goes in there, not even those unspeakable blokes you know, the ones from the department of mysteries.'  
  
'There's somefin' funny goin' on that's for sure. What ever it is those 'igh brows don' wan' us knowin' about it.'  
  
'Yeah, what else is new?'  
  
I began to grow used to these conversations most mornings as I walked to the office. Apparently while most, all of the gossipers agreed that there was a room 13 shrouded in the ministry's fifth corridor none of them could agree exactly what the room contained. Some people claimed that it was a courtroom where the ministry's most dangerous and secretive captives were put on trial; some said that it was the number of a certain safe room known only to the minister and his senior staff. Still others claimed that it was not a room at all, but a code, shrouded in a mystery older than the ministry it's self.  
  
Yes, there were many rumors as to the significance of this number. I entertained myself From time to time by listening to them, but I never paid them much heed. I had much more important tasks to accomplish now that I had found by place in the office. The promotion given to me had changed my entire life. I was intent on proving to some of the more bitter employees that I had thoroughly earned the position I had been offered. The demands of this gave me little time for office gossip.  
  
That day started like any other. I entered the door to the space provided by the ministry only a few months previous. Several papers were stacked carefully on my desk, which had in its early days been filled with pictures of family members. These had long since been replaced by daily prophet clippings and portraits of important ministry predecessors who mumbled drowsy good mornings as I walked to the chair behind my desk and set to work on the recording of several important court cases. I remained bent over my work that morning, stopping only occasionally to pensively stare out the window at the ominously gray sky. Soon however the sight of my framed school photo along with my framed head boy award shook me back to the importance of my work on the past cases of Azkaban's ten recently escaped death eaters.  
  
I left the office in late morning to file my report on the old Lestrange case. This was a very important matter as the old files provided key clues to the possible whereabouts of the ten criminals. I had nearly reached my destination when, to my great surprise, I heard Cornilius Fudge calling me over to a corner where he was standing. He asked me if he could have a word in private.  
  
'Yes sir.' I replied as I followed him down one of the more remote corridors of the ministry.  
  
'I'm very proud of your work my boy. very proud indeed. You've shown immense progress in the last few months, far beyond what I could expect from any one quite so young I'd say.' 'Thank you sir.' I tried to appear casual, even as this compliment sunk in. I did however find myself inadvertently straightening my stance  
  
'Now, if you don't mind I would like to discuss something of rather a. er. personal nature.' The minister's voice had become less assured and dropped slightly in tone as we continued to walk.  
  
'Yes sir?'  
  
'You see. I have a rather sensitive delivery to be made. oh, nothing dangerous I assure you. This particular package contains a rather rare medicine. A daughter of one of my oldest colleagues has fallen quite ill. I promised him that I would see to her medication. old friend of the family you understand. Now in normal times I would deliver the potion myself however times being what they are. I would be most grateful if you would take the task as a. favor?'  
  
I didn't need to stop and consider my answer. While I didn't particularly fancy being made a simple messenger, I could no sooner defy God than turn down the minister of magic.  
  
'Gladly sir.'  
  
'Good, good.' Fudge said bracingly. ' If you would stop by my office this evening to pick up the.er. package. I will most likely leave the office unlocked as I have a rather pressing engagement this evening. I'll give you the address now shall I?' He pulled out a small-yellowed piece of parchment from his coat pocket, handed it to me, and bid me good day.  
  
I waited until the minister had been lost in the bustling crowd out at the other end of the corridor before I looked at the parchment he had placed in my hands. My eyes widened in shock. I cannot, even now, explain my fear. I had never been superstitious, but at that moment, I found myself believing all the myths and legends told to me as a child. Perhaps the minister had made a mistake. I had hardly thought this before I reminded myself that the minister of magic would never make such futile mistakes. This was the correct address:  
  
Number 13, Charad Street 


	2. Oswald Manner

Disclaimer: Riddle: I know I'm not J.K Rowling, you know I'm not J.K Rowling, so why are we wasting good paper space? Answer: Cunning trial lawyers  
  
Chapter 2: Oswald Manner  
  
There was complete silence that evening as I walked down the unfamiliar street. The sun was quite a ways from setting but the unusually large leafed trees seemed to plunge the street into a continual night. It was distressing enough to have to walk down the infamous Charad Street at all, let alone be forced to search for number 13. For, everyone in the wizarding world knew about the mystery that had occurred there less than twenty years ago.  
  
Once Charad Street had been home to the most prominent wizarding families. The extravagant façades, as I walked down this dark road remained as a tribute to that time. It had required either a lot of gold or a lot of influence to buy a home along this road. Apparently one family who had moved into the largest mansion on the street had acquired both. The father who had recently been promoted in the ministry of magic was happily married with two daughters. The family lived peacefully in the house until one night.  
  
A piercing shriek was heard coming from the upstairs window, and the law enforcment squad was called in. By the time they reached the house the shrieking had stopped. But instead of relief, an eerie silence had fallen. Two members of the law enforcement squad cautiously entered the mansion. There was a longer silence, a large crowd had now gathered outside the house breathlessly awaiting the report of what had awoken them. It was not long before two more shrieks were heard and another eerie silence fell.  
  
It continued like this for hours. Those who entered the house disappeared in much the same manner as the first two. When at last two aurors were lost to the shrieks of the mansion, the ministry made the decision not to risk any more. The street was evacuated and the house placed under protection. No one had lived on the street since that night. The family who lived in the mansion was never seen nor heard from again. The ministry maintained that Charad Street was as safe as any other in the country. In normal circumstances, I would have whole heartedly agreed with them. I hardly believed in children's myths after all. Still, the unseasonable chirpings of creatures other than birds, coming from the bows of overgrown leaves made me more cautious than I might have been on any other street.  
  
I walked on holding myself as high as I possibly could under the circumstances. Number 13 was placed at the last corner of the street.  
  
This mansion was, even in the dim light, quite extravagant. The façade of the house was solid gold from top to bottom, and the windows had seemingly been bewitched to hold realistic looking stars twinkling in their reflection. Two cherubim's looked down at me giggling consistently as I walked under the archway to the front door of the mansion. The gilded, old- fashioned hammer placed on the door seemed to have no magic powers. However, as I lifted it to knock the door, a blood curtling shriek filled the street, which made me jump at least two feet from where I had been standing. The long yell stopped as suddenly as it had come. Then as if on cue the door to the mansion creaked open. I could not help but to step back further from the front steps.  
  
Perhaps it was the sound of the shriek continuing to echo in my ear, but I expected the door to reveal some monster equal to the horrid feeling that the street evoked in me. I was surprised to see that instead the door revealed a perfectly normal looking girl. Indeed her face pleasantly contrasted the dark street on which she resided. Her blond hair had been pulled up in an attempt to keep it off her neck, but two unruly wisps seemed to have fallen haphazardly framing her face. Her cheeks were so large and rosy that one could not help but compare them to the cherubims above the archway (whose giggling had increased since the door had opened). Despite these traits of suggestive happiness, her grey eyes gave a distinctive feel of traditional order. Suggesting a sternness beyond her years. (For, she could not have been older than 19)  
  
She wore the beginnings of an expectant and even excited smile as she opened the door. However, when she saw me standing on the front step her face fell slightly.  
  
'Yes? What is it?' Her rather crisp voice had a note of determined calm as if hiding a fear she felt. Though it seemed at the time that I had more right to be fearful than she. I collected myself from the shock of the succession of events. I answered her in the most official tone I could muster.  
  
'My name is Percy Weasly. I was sent by the minister of magic with a package for-' It had not occurred to me until then that the minister had not told me who to give the package to when I arrived. For surely there would be more than one person living in such a large mansion. Perhaps picking up on my hesitation the girl continued for me.  
  
'-For my sister. Her medication, thank you very much sir.' I was slightly taken back by this. I had never been called "sir" before. Not even by my lower ranking co-workers. She gave me an almost relieved smile as she bid me good day and slowly began to close the door.  
  
Even as she did however, a loud crunch sounded from a nearby bush. The sound gave me the eerie impression of bones being gnawed. I felt the blood leaving my face as I again stepped back slightly.  
  
'On second thought perhaps you had better come inside sir.' I had not realized that the girl had not gone inside, and felt slightly ashamed for appearing so cowardly.  
  
'the street isn't particularly safe during daylight hours.'  
  
'Yes, thank you.' I answered attempting to sound unphased. She opened the door wider allowing me to step inside.  
  
While the outside of the mansion was extravagantly beautiful, the inside appeared quite ordinary and much smaller. I walked into a living room with a simple couch, and coffee table. The room contained an adjoining kitchen with a fold out card table and tea kettle. In fact by looking at the house from the inside one would not be able to tell that it had any magical properties at all.  
  
'I'm afraid that the manner isn't quite furnished yet, we've only just moved in you see. I hope you don't mind.' She said leading the way to the kitchen.  
  
'No, no it's perfectly all right. By the way, not to be rude, but who exactly are you?' At first she stared at me with a questioning glance which made me wish that I had not asked at all. Then however, she seemed to come to herself and showed a slightly apologetic smile.  
  
'My name is Celia. Celia Oswald.' She gave me her right hand and I shook it. 'It's lovely to meet you Mr. Weasly' And she continued her way into the kitchen.  
  
This was another manner in which I was not used to being addressed. Only my father was known as Mr.Weasly. This was not a fact I was particularly proud of. After all, I had made it clear that I wanted, in no way to be associated with my father. However as there was no way she could possibly know this, I chose to ignore the comment.  
  
'Please sit down.' She said gesturing to the small card tables with three small wooden chairs placed around it. I chose the seat at the head of the table. Two china tea mugs had already been set out.  
  
'Were you expecting someone.Miss Oswald?' I asked, wanting to appear as polite as she seemed to be. She turned to me with the same curious stare she wore when I had asked her who she was. It was as if she were not used to being addressed in such a formal manner. As strange as this seemed to me, I had learned long ago that it is best not to question.  
  
She collected herself once more and answered in her common crisp and upright tone. 'Oh, we don't get many visitors here. No, I was about to take a cup up to my sister.'  
  
'Has she been ill long?' I asked attempting to keep conversation.  
  
' For the past year.' She answered handing me a cup of tea as she sat down in the chair opposite me. 'The poor dear cannot even walk down the stairs any longer. That's why we moved to Charad Street. Alieanna, my sister, has a condition that does not take well to light and sound. Since the street was isolated and dark it was the perfect location. Also, the fact that my family had once owned a good deal of property here helped.'  
  
'What property did they own?' I asked.  
  
'My family owned this mansion a little less than twenty years ago. In fact, they used to call the house Oswald manner before. well, you know the legend of course.' I gave a curt nod before she continued.  
  
'I was young. Only six months old in fact, when they evacuated the street. We've lived in a house just outside London since then. When Alieanna fell ill, my father managed to buy back the property, even though every one said he was mad to do it. All that nonsense about the curse.' She trailed off into a laugh, so much so that I could not help but laugh with her. Still, as she began to speak again I had a distinct feeling that she wanted to change the subject.  
  
' So you work for the ministry of magic? What exactly do you do?'  
  
Almost grateful for a chance not to speak about old legends and cursed streets, I immediately went into an explanation of my work duties. This took quite a while, as my list of duties as a junior under-secretary were extensive. Celia seemed interested in the ministry and listened politely. I was pleased that she also fervently agreed with many ministry policies.  
  
'Well, I must say it dose seem like reform in that school is long overdue.' She said after I had told her about the new policies at Hogwarts.  
  
'I quite agree. But, I'm afraid professor Umbridge is experiencing very little cooperation from the staff.'  
  
'I wouldn't expect anything more with Dumbledore in charge. My father has been railing against him for quite some time now. In fact, I believe that Dumbledore is the very reason my sister and I never attended Hogwarts.' She said this very calmly as she sipped her tea. I, on the other hand was quite puzzled. I had never heard of magical children not attending the school before, no matter how their parents felt about the headmaster.  
  
'You didn't go to hogwarts?' I asked incredulously.  
  
'Oh, no.' Celia answered conversationally. 'My father taught us both himself.' It was at that moment, an echoing crash coming from the upstairs room made both of us jump.  
  
'That'll be Alieanna. It's time for her medication.' Celia trailed off. She began to walk upstairs before turning sharply as if just remembering I was still in the room.  
  
'Oh, it should be safe to go out now' She said glancing at the clock above the card table.  
  
'I'll see you to the door.'  
  
I followed her past the couch in the living room and out the front door as she held it open.  
  
'Thank you for the medication Mr.Weasly. I do hope you will stop by again soon.' She said in an officially traditional voice.  
  
'I hope so too miss Oswald. Good evening.' And with a little nod, she shut the door to the mansion. I stared at the street. Night had indeed fallen, though one could barely tell. The odd chirpings and gnawing had stopped. Feeling somehow safer, I began to dismount the front steps. The only noise I heard as I left the mansion, were the giggling of the two gilded cherubim's as one of them called gleefully after me.  
  
'You were in there long enough!' 


	3. Woes of the Minister

Disclaimer: You know the routine by now. I'm not J.K Rowling. All the characters (except for Celia) are hers  
  
Chapter 3: The woes of the minister  
  
Time flew rapidly by at the ministry. My workload had grown considerably since my strange visit to Oswald manner. The minister had not spoken of the incident since giving me the address. Granted he had quite a bit more to be getting on with.  
  
What some might see as a sort of chaos had erupted at Hogwarts School. The head master, Dumbledore had apparently been secretly organizing his students to lead a revolution against the ministry.  
  
I had been there the evening he had escaped arrest by confounding two aurors, the minister, Professor Umbridge and myself with some sort of spell. I had to admit that the effect was extraordinary. Even now, I am not quite certain how he accomplished it.  
  
Professor Umbridge had taken charge of the school. While I saw this as a welcomed improvement, it did not help the fact that the minister was now dealing with twelve fugitives, as well as the usual Wizengamot bills which were being proposed almost daily  
  
Apparently some members of the Wizengamot thought it necessary to prove to a wary public that, the ministry was trying to keep the government working as normally as possible despite the recent events at Hogwarts. Because of this thought process, bills and legislation were being passed and rejected so quickly that even I, try as I might had trouble keeping track of them.  
  
Naturally, for the minister of magic, all this proved much more important than a vague promise to some old colleague. I did not expect to have to enter Charad Street again. I was grateful for the most part. After all, I was not exactly keen to walk down the dark, mysterious street, particularly not during the day. Thus, I tried as best as I could to put thoughts of Oswald Manner out of my mind. That is, until one day in mid may.  
  
I had taken my seat in the meeting room for what was promising to be another mundane Monday. Continuing from the previous day, the first was proposition 133, sponsored by Emma Ducarless. I strained to keep my eyes open as my hand instinctively drilled across my parchment taking in every possible word being spoken. This particular bill dealt with Werewolf regulations. This in itself was not extraordinary, Werewolf legislation was drafted at least twice a week. This particular bill, however, was slightly more controversial than the others.  
  
Ms. Ducarless proposed than since Werewolves were officially classified as beasts, they should be prosecuted as beasts. This meant that Warewolves could be executed if they failed to register themselves with the ministry of magic.  
  
"I must say, these measures seem exceptionally harsh." Fudge said milling over the several paged document in front of him.  
  
"Minister, if I may, these are very harsh circumstances." Answered Ms. Ducarless. She was a short and rather stout witch with shoulder length brown hair that always had a slight friz to it. She also seemed to constantly wear a slight smile, no matter what the circumstances, so that one was rarely sure what she was thinking.  
  
" Within this year alone, nearly 200 people have been subject to werewolf bites in the United Kingdom. Unregistered werewolves who remain at large infected over half of the victims. Obviously current legislation dealing with these issues is ill equipped to handle the growing problem."  
  
At this a rather young witch with curled black hair stood up from the back row. "The Chair recognizes Jane Brightman" Fudge said automatically.  
  
"Thank you minister. I have only one question concerning the proposal. What about the innocent? I believe we all are in agreement that a Werewolf cannot help being such, it hardly seems humane to prosecute them with such harsh measures." A murmur of agreement spread through the room. Emma Ducarless however, remained smiling, apparently un phased.  
  
"Ms. Brightman, protection is what this bill is about. While, a werewolf can hardly help being such, it is the duty of the ministry to see that more are not produced by simple carelessness on our part. Werewolves who have properly registered themselves as such with the ministry of magic have nothing to fear." She answered.  
  
"I would also like to draw attention to the fact that many prominent members of the community are in support of this bill. Including Delores Umbridge." Ms. Ducarless's smile broadened into a sort of smug as another mummer was ushered around the court room. There were very few members of the Wizengammot who would dare argue with Delores Umbridge. Even though she had left the organization to teach at hogwarts, her presence was still very real, as was her influence.  
  
"If there are no more objections." Fudge looked around the room. A few members of the court shook their heads, but many were still busy muttering to each other. Satisfied with this Fudge continued. " On the matter of proposition 113, all in favor." About half of the Wizengamot raised their hands.  
  
"All opposed." The rest of the room raised their hands, including the black haired witch on the back row. I knew what was happening before Fudge said the words confirming the situation. It was a split decision.  
  
"Since no conclusive decision can be made, the bill will be tabled until further notice. When will the next hearing for prosition #133 take place Weasly?" The minister asked as I consulted the calendar directly in front of me.  
  
"June 13th sir" I answered.  
  
"Thank you. We will meet back here on June 13th for further discussion." With this he set aside the papers containing the bill, to his right hand side.  
  
"Court will recess for 15 minuets before reviewing proposition #134"  
  
I set down my quill and stretched out my right hand, which had become cramped from furious note taking. Once my hand had been thoroughly nursed back to it's proper state, I began to follow the rest of the Wizengamot out into the corridor. But, as I began to rise from my seat, the minister called to me.  
  
"Weasly, I'd like a word."  
  
"Yes sir." I answered as briskly as I could, walking to the middle of the room.  
  
As I came closer to Fudge I began to realize that he seemed a bit more frazzled than usual. The little hair that remained on his head seemed to be sticking out in places, and he was running his hand over his forehead continually. I surmised that this change was due to his overextended workload.  
  
"Yes. yes." He muttered to me as I arrived. "Of course you recall the favor I asked of you last month?"  
  
"Yes sir." I answered, trying not to appear hesitant. I didn't at all like the course this conversation was taking. I thought that I was through with going to Charad Street.  
  
"If I could ask the same favor of you tonight. It would be most helpful, considering." Fudge ran his hand across his brow once more, where I noticed that small pockets of sweat had broken out, despite the slight chill in the court room.  
  
I was again placed against a wall. If I refused the minister of magic, it would mean the end of my career, and concurrently, my life. So I took a deep breath and answered  
  
"Of course sir." Trying not to remember the sounds of human bones being gnawed in the trees covering the abandoned street.  
  
Fudge gave an almost relieved smile as he said  
  
"Well then, my office door will be open again this evening. The medication will be on my desk." And with this he dismissed me. I walked out of the courtroom with an apprehensive knot in the pit of my stomach. The sounds of the street, the scream at #13 and the horror of waiting on the steps, listening to the sounds came flooding back to me in one horrible moment.  
  
The only good memory I had of my trip to Charad Street was meeting Celia. It was true that I would not object to seeing her again. Of course this was a very small, and dim light next to the horror of the darkly mysterious street. Still, it was something. 


	4. Skeleton in the closet

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I'm just not brilliant like J.K Rowling.  
  
P.S. in response to your review Nixy.Yes Werewolves will be important. I can't tell you how just yet, but they will turn up again.  
  
Chapter 4: Skeleton in the Closet  
  
I turned once again onto the darkened Charad street. It was a bit later this time; I had attempted to wait until nightfall to deliver the potion. However, even though Celia had said that the street was safer in the dark, the thought of the already dark walkways coupled with the night made me uneasier.  
  
So I trudged on, trying my best to ignore the chirpings in the leaves. Though those should have been common place by now. After several minuets worth of walking down the, abandoned, encrusted side walk, I convinced my self that I was becoming used to the old road. Indeed there was very little fear in my step now.  
  
Still, I simply could not shake a small sense of foreboding. The street seemed different from the last time I had come. I stopped once and took a long look at the area that surrounded me. Nothing seemed to have changed on the surface.  
  
The moss and vines still grew through and around the facades of formerly expensive mansions. The grass and lawn still crept up through the side walk. Trees still covered the ground with a canopy of night. But something had changed.  
  
The last time I had walked down Charad Street I had felt a sense of loneliness brought on by the abandonment of the street. Now, however, I had a cold, paranoid thought that I was not alone at all. That some one was following. Closely, silently observing every move I made.  
  
It was at that moment there was a large rustle on the ground near the front gate, which led to mansion #12. I turned quickly behind me. As I did, I could hear feet pattering, running. Once I had turned completely I barely caught a glimpse of what looked to be a leg. A human leg dashing between several over grown hedges to the only area that showed a faint glow of light from the setting sun coming through the trees: The wood behind #13.  
  
I had a very brief daring thought of rushing into the wood after what ever it was, or who ever it was. But my body rebelliously disobeyed my mind and stayed rooted to the over grown gravel beneath my feet.  
  
. My mind was s swarming with questions, which I knew I would never dare to ask. If there was no one on the street besides Celia and her sister, then what was any one doing at #12? The street had after all been evacuated years ago, there were very few who would dare to go near it, let alone enter it. Then again I thought, there certainly would be at least a few very foolish children who would brave entering on a dare by their friends. This was a simple explanation yet it made sense. Yes. That would be it, surely this was some childish prank.  
  
My mind finally reassured, I began to walk on. But as I neared the steps to #13, and was greeted by the two giggling cherubims ('Back again are we?'), I found that my stomach had received another paranoid jolt as a large rustle was heard from the leaves in the tree next to the branch. I was not alone. Something was following me.  
  
Slowly I retrieved my wand from my robes and turned around. Nothing. I looked around either side of the porch, stared as far as I could see, still nothing. Not entirely reassured, I placed my wand under my arm leaving my hand free to lift the door handle, now expecting the scream. However, before I could raise the large old fashioned bar, I heard a slow patter of . not feet. But what sounded rather creepily like bones coming up the stairs.  
  
I turned attempting to pull my wand out while not breaking the cauldron that held the potion, which I had carefully shifted to my left hand. My hands fell numb however when I lifted my eyes. I now knew why the sound following me from the stairs had not sounded like human feet.  
  
The cauldron I was holding dropped with a loud crash as I stared remarkably up at a 6 foot skeleton. Only half decomposed human skin remained rotting on it's face and hands mingled with freshly dug dirt. It's eye sockets were empty and dark but had been made home to long thin worms which ate their way around the holes filled with the slime of the earth.  
  
I took two frightened steps backward causing myself to trip on the steps falling backward into a bush. The thorns from a twig stung my right cheek as the skeleton followed me coming dangerously closer to the bush with every step. My wand had been left on the front steps along with the now useless cauldron. The bush prevented me from backing away further as the skeleton neared me. Closer than ever now, it raised a large rotting hand, mixed with human flesh, bone, and earth to my throat as I gasped for breath.  
  
My mind had become paralyzed. There was nothing left to do now. The skeleton was bending nearer now. Coming closer with every breath I took. Closer.closer.closer  
  
'riddikulus' A voice shouted from the front porch  
  
The door to the mansion had creaked open and the skeleton turned from me to the front door. It shifted into a large ball of light before fading into vapor.  
  
'Mr. Weasly? Are you all right?' Celia asked wearing a look of sincere concern as she rushed down the front steps. 'I'm fine' I answered as steadily as I could, rubbing the arm on which I had fallen. She most certainly thought me a coward now. A bogart. How could I have behaved so foolishly?  
  
Celia gave me her hand and pulled me up from the bush.  
  
'That cut looks bad. If you'll come inside I can clean it up for you' She said looking at the scar on my cheek. It was fairly painful. I nodded and followed her up the front steps.  
  
'Repairo' She said pointing her wand at the spilled potion as we reached the steps of the porch. The cauldron was immediately filled as it had been before it had fallen. Celia bent down on the fourth step, picked up my wand and handed it back to me.  
  
'Thank you' I said rather crisply, still slightly embarrassed by the scene I had made. She smiled and continued leading the way into the mansion.  
  
I walked into the house noticing immediately that not a great deal of change had taken place there. The moth eaten couch was still in place in the front living room. If nothing else is looked older and more frayed then it had the last time I had seen it. The coffee table looked as if it had been scratched in several places. The only difference to the living room seemed to be that an added portrait now hung on the wall above the small fireplace. This showed a fairly young woman, who was flipping the pages of an abnormally large book.  
  
She had light brown hair and grey eyes that looked remarkably similar to Celia's.  
  
'My mother.' Celia said apparently aware that my attention had turned to the portrait. 'She died when I was very young.'  
  
'I'm sorry.' I said. I always felt slightly awkward about things like this. Always completely unsure of what to say. I personally had never known anyone who had died.  
  
Celia seemed to take it well however. She shrugged her shoulders slightly looking from the portrait back to me.  
  
'I never knew her.' She said simply. She came to herself slightly and continued back to the kitchen, which still sported the small card table and teakettle.  
  
'Now about that cut.' She said and walked over to the cupboard above the sink.  
  
'If you don't mind my asking, miss Oswald, what exactly was a Bogart doing on a disserted street in broad day light?' I asked fairly. Though I was not usually one to pry into such affairs, I had a right to know what a boggart was doing in such a large space. Normally they rarely nested outside of cupboards or closets.  
  
'I'm afraid we get quite a few of them around here.' Celia said with a slightly apologetic tone as she pulled down a large bottle of Essence of Murlap from the cupboard.  
  
' I suppose that the street is so dark, they feel more comfortable here when they can not find smaller accommodations. Here.' She said pouring the essence of murlap onto a towel and placing it gently onto my right cheek. I gave a slight grimace at the sting.  
  
'And by the way, it is all right to call me Celia. It's less formal that way at least.' She said.  
  
'All right then.Celia. Then you can call me Percy' I said somewhat awkwardly. She nodded but did not say anything. I could see her face becoming slightly pinker as she took her hand off the towel 'It'll be all right in a few minuets.' She said as she went to pour another cup of tea from the kettle.  
  
' So I suppose the Boggarts are the reason that the street is not particularly safe during the day light?' I asked. She turned back to me wearing an apprehensive look before saying unconvincingly 'Oh, yes.' She walked back to the table and sat down in the chair opposite me.  
  
'By the way, how are things at the ministry?' She said rather quickly. 'I know work can't be easy what with the business about hogwarts, and those death eaters.'  
  
'I'm afraid it's been rather dreadful since April.' I answered, glad that at last I was the one with information.  
  
'The minister has been frantic, what with those prisoners running about. The wizengammot has become positively paranoid about the whole thing. Proposing bills left and right, some of them absolutely absurd. Honestly, it's a good thing the minister has such a devoted staff, other wise I'm not sure that he'd be able to handle the pressure.' I straightened myself as I added the last part. I was hoping to at least slightly redeem myself in Celia's eyes after the catastrophe with the boggart.  
  
'Poor man,' Celia said as she sipped her tea. 'I've always had a great deal of respect for him.' She muttered the last part almost to herself. As her eyes began to lose focus  
  
'Yes. He is an extraordinary man.' I said attempting to bring the conversation back on track. 'And when you consider the sort of things they're proposing now. The latest was some nonsense about werewolf restrictions-'  
  
'-What werewolf restrictions?' Celia asked suddenly. She was now eying me with a strange anticipation. I could not think why. I was taken aback, but I still answered her, however hesitantly.  
  
'A woman named Emma Ducarless, proposed a bill about executing non- registered werewolves. It was highly controversial of course.'  
  
'Of course.' Celia said trying and failing to sound as if this was a piece of information that did not particularly matter.  
  
'Did the bill pass or not?' She asked, she had pulled her face into a look of polite interest, but I couldn't help noticing that her hand shook as she took another sip of her tea.  
  
'It was a split decision.' I answered. 'They've postponed voting until next month.'  
  
'hmm.' She said as she set her cup down again. There was a moment's silence before Celia said.  
  
'Here, let me check on that cut again.' She walked over to me and lifted the towel from my face. She placed a soft hand on my cheek making sure that the cut had stopped bleeding. Suddenly the stinging of the cut seemed to have completely disappeared  
  
'Yes, that is better. I think you'll be all right for you to go now.' She said glancing out the window. 'It's dark enough now.' A crash was heard from the upstairs wing. 'And Alieanna will need her medicine.'  
  
I followed Celia to the front door, glancing once more at the portrait of her mother who now seemed to be fast asleep on the side of her chair.  
  
'Thank you again for the medicine Mr.- Percy' She corrected herself rather awkwardly. I smiled at her.  
  
'A pleasure as always.Celia.' I said she nodded and closed the door as I began once again to descend the steps more confused then I had ever been in my life.  
  
Why did Celia seem so taken back at the mention of that ministry bill? I began to search in my head for possible explanations, each one more unlikely than the next. Besides that, what else besides Bogarts resided on this street? As I turned out of Charad Street it seemed to me that there was more than a bogart skeleton hidden in the closet #13. 


	5. The Return of the Dark Lord

Disclaimer: I'm not J.K Rowling, I own nothing. Now let's get on with it!  
  
Chapter five: The Return of the Dark Lord  
  
One month past. It was, under the circumstances a fairly uneventful June for the ministry. That is until one night on June 10th.  
  
The signal rang out that evening. Waking me from a sound sleep.  
  
'All Ministry employees are to report to the ministry of magic at once'  
  
I jumped up from my bed and immediately threw on my work robes. I couldn't guess what could cause the alarm. What ever it was it could only be an emergency of the gravest nature. We had seen many fiasco's this year alone, and none of them had warranted a call for all ministry employees, and in my time at the ministry, I had never heard a call summoning us in the middle of the night.  
  
Of course, I remembered, very vaguely, of my father receiving such alarms. But those had only been in the days of You-know-who. Nothing of equal magnitude could have happened now. You-Know- Who was dead. What else could possibly be wrong?  
  
I placed my clearance badge in the pocket of my robes and apparated as quickly as I possibly could to the atrium. Once I appeared there, I noticed the immediate change. The statue of magical brethren, which had once stood high in the middle of the corridor now lay in ruins. Slices of marble littered the tile ground surrounding the fountain which had stood in that same spot for over 30 years. I thought to myself, what could possibly have ruined such a structure? As I stood by the fountain, awe struck, ministry employees were rushing by me. The more senior members shouting orders to the lower brackets. Secretaries and junior members were speaking to each other in whispers.  
  
'What happened?' 'Damned if I know.' 'Where's Fudge?'  
  
I caught snippets of such phrases being uttered more and more poured slowly into the atrium. I had to admit these questions were in the forefront of my mind, even if I did not voice them. For, it occurred to me once the shock of the fountain had subsided, that I had not seen the minister since I arrived. Surely the minister would be the first to arrive in the ministry if there was a crisis. Where was he?  
  
This question was quickly answered when there was a creak of a large door and the minister stepped out from his office into the atrium, followed closely by his senior staff, and to my utter surprise: Dumbledore  
  
All of them walked briskly across the atrium, not looking at any one. They reached a tile just before the fountain. Dumbledore turned and said something to Fudge. Though I strained my ears to hear their conversation, I could not make out the words above the shouts that now echoed in the atrium.  
  
It was not long before Dummbledore walked slowly to one of the fireplaces along the wall, and was lost in a sea of emerald green flames.  
  
Fudge turned from the fire, he looked frazzled. Even more so know then he had after the hearing for proposition 113 the month before. He was placing his hand across his forehead once more and looking fixedly at the tiles on the floor. He began to walk closer to the fountain. His senior staff followed loyally in his footsteps. The noise had subsided somewhat. I could now hear what they were saying.  
  
'Gather the rest of the Wizengammot, meet in court room 10 in fifteen minuets.' They had reached the fountain now.  
  
'Weasly. Come with me.' Fudge said passing me with out lifting his eyes from the floor. I followed quickly in his wake through the double doors, which led to the minister's private office.  
  
'I will need you to take down a statement to be released to the press tomorrow evening.' Said fudge as we entered his office. He indicated a chair next to his desk with a quill, ink and parchment already set out.  
  
'Yes sir.' I said quickly. I still had very little light as to what had happened, but I dared not ask until I was told. I had learned early in my career that it is best never to question authority. After all, if I did, I would no doubt suffer the same fate as my father had I questioned the ministry's stance on You Know Who.  
  
I sat down at the desk and took up the quill.  
  
'It is with great regret that I must confirm that the wizard styling himself lord-' Here fudge paused 'Oh, just put you know who.' Fudge said quickly with an impatient wave of his hand. He stared out of his window, his back facing the desk. My fingers shook as they struggled to hold the quill steady. It was something to do with You Know Who. But how could it be? He was dead.  
  
'Is alive, and among us again.' My mouth fell. The words reached my paper before I dared to believe them.  
  
'But sir-' I said in a moment of boldness. I needed answers and suddenly I didn't care how I got them. It wasn't true it couldn't be.  
  
'We urge the magical population to remain vigilant.' Fudge continued as if I had never spoken. I continued to write, not daring to say more.  
  
'The ministry is currently publishing guides to elementary home and personal defense that will be delivered free to all wizarding households within the coming month.'  
  
I scribbled as quickly as I could. He was back. The minister would not lie, he couldn't. But did this mean that Dumbledore, my parents, Harry Potter had been right the entire time?  
  
'Of course this will be subject to change, once we learn for certain the position of the dementors.' Fudge said once he had heard my quill stop.  
  
'But sir, if he- if you know who is back, does this mean that-' '-Were not certain of anything yet, Weasly. He is back and that's enough for us to be getting on with at the moment with out bringing everything else into it.'  
  
'Yes, sir' I said reluctantly. Questions were still circling through my brain, unanswered.  
  
'And, Weasly.' Said Fudge hesitantly as he moved from the window to a cabinet which he opened with a flick of his wand.  
  
'I will need you to take this potion to Charad street as soon as possible.' He took out a steaming cauldron and handed it to me.  
  
'In fact go now if possible.' He moved toward the door.  
  
'But, sir. The Wizengammot hearing. What will happen if I-'  
  
'My boy, you have not missed a days work since you were appointed. I dare say I owe you at least one sick day.'  
  
I opened my mouth once more to protest, but before I could say another word, Fudge had left the office shutting the door behind him.  
  
I stood on the carpet, numb. It was as if the entire world was passing me by in a frenzy. I heard the shuffles of employees outside the door. Hurrying to their respected offices, whispering conversations, busying themselves so that some how, some way they would forget the horrible truth. The truth that they, that the minister, that all of us had been denying for the past year.  
  
We would not admit it even to ourselves, but it was true none the less. Dumbledore, my parents, Harry Potter, had been right. And, though I wished with the might of a thousand soldiers, there was no magic in the world that could take me back to the blissful ignorance I had known before. The dark lord had returned. 


	6. The Gilded Cage

Chapter six: The Man With No Face  
  
I wandered down Charad street, wand ready this time. Perhaps it was the fact that the sky was still dark due to the early hour, but I was not as fearful now as I had been on my previous journeys. Curiosity about this place coupled with confusion about the events at the ministry caused me to take each step in stride so that I arrived at Oswald manner more quickly then I had anticipated.  
  
The small Cherubims giggled softly above me as I reached the porch steps. As I proceeded to walk to the door one of the cherubim called down to me: 'looks like some one's beaten you to it this time!' I stopped, slightly startled.  
  
'What do you mean?' I asked sharply staring up at the two devilishly angelic faces. At this question however the gilded creatures only began giggling more loudly than before.  
  
I finished my climb up the stairs and walked slowly to the knocker on the front door. Before I could lift it however, I heard a voice, apparently deep in conversation coming from behind the door. I could not mistake it for any one other than Celia. However, I could not imagine with whom she could possibly be speaking in the front room. Her sister was, after all, bed ridden. And she had said herself that very few, if any visitors ever came to the manner.  
  
In spite of myself I leaned closer to the door attempting to listen to the discussion.  
  
'I'm sorry but I could never do such a thing. He has been far too good to me.'  
  
Though she spoke softly and hesitantly I could make out these words. I barely had time to wonder at them when another voice answered her. It was, to my surprise, the voice of a man. A rather peculiar sensation raced to the pit of my stomach as he spoke.  
  
' Open your eyes Celia. Do you think he will keep his promise now that there is so much fear?' It was after he said this that I noticed something very familiar in this man's voice. I had heard it before. If only I could remember where.  
  
'But he knows I would never betray him.' Celia said defensively. Her voice was still very small.  
  
'Do you think that matters? He acts only in his self interest. Once the truth is out, he will abandon you.'  
  
'That's not true' Celia spoke more loudly this time.  
  
'You know it is.' The man was in contrast quieter. 'How long has it been since he has even spoken to you?'  
  
Celia did not answer.  
  
'His own skin matters more to him than-' He broke off very suddenly. And, I could hear the unmistakable crack of someone disapparating from inside the house. I looked off into the wood behind the house I could barely see through the trees that the dawn was beginning to break.  
  
Hesitantly I took up the knocker on the door and lifted it. The scream filled the space around me once again. The door opened only slightly and I could see the grey of Celia's eyes as she looked out hesitantly.  
  
When she saw me however, she let out a small sigh of relief and opened the door wider.  
  
'Percy. What are you doing here so early?' She asked. She was smiling, but she still seemed overtly flustered.  
  
' The minister asked me to deliver this as soon as possible.' I said coldly handing her the cauldron. I could not explain why, but as I listened to the conversation at the door I had felt a still pang of what might be called jealousy, the remnant of which was still with me. Celia appeared not to have noticed, she was still smiling as she took the cauldron.  
  
'Please come in.' I stayed rooted to the front porch.  
  
'Who was that you were talking to?' I asked quickly, surprising even myself.  
  
'Oh,' She said attempting and failing to seem unphased by this. 'An opponent of my Father's. They come here every once in a while trying to get some dirt on him. You see my father is rather powerful, many people hate him because of it.'  
  
Not completely satisfied with this answer but not daring to question further, I stepped into the house. Celia closed the door behind me.  
  
Her mother's portrait still hung on the wall opposite the moth eaten couch and scathed coffee table. Though I noticed that the cushions on the couch were sunken as if newly sat in. The slight pang returned to my stomach.  
  
'Does he live in London, your Father?' I asked her as we entered the kitchen where two cups and a teakettle had been set out on the card table.  
  
'No.' She answered simply as she poured tea from the kettle into a cup which she handed to me. I took my seat on the end of the table.  
  
'He lives quite far away. Since I turned seventeen he's traveled several places, leaving me to look after Alieanna. I believe he was living in Ireland the last I heard from him.' She took a cup for herself and sat down opposite me. I noticed the smile had been replaced by a wistful, almost sad look. She sipped her tea and seemed to come to herself as she began to smile again. 'And what about your family?' She asked conversationally.  
  
'I don't have one.' I was far too taken back by this question to think of a better answer.  
  
Celia set down her cup and gave a slight laugh.  
  
'Well that's impossible! I mean to say, you must have had a family at some point.'  
  
Perhaps it was something in her laugh or the fact that a very small amount of guilt had begun to settle in about the subject since I discovered the return of You-know-who, but I soon found myself however inadvertently unleashing the entire story. How my parents had abandoned the ministry in favor of Dumbledore, about my promotion and the night I left home, I even told her about how I had written to my brother after he had become a prefect, and the jumper I had sent back at Christmas. Nearly every detail of what had happened since the previous summer came tumbling out. Celia stayed silent, her eyes fixed on me through my entire story. Even when I told her of how I had discovered the return of He-who -must-not-be-named, she gave no indication of shock or even fear. It was as if she already knew.  
  
'So, you haven't spoken to your father in a year?' She asked once I had finished.  
  
'No, I suppose not.' I answered somewhat bitterly.  
  
' Of course the estrangement was not my fault. I have always been more than willing to welcome an apology from my father at any time. It is in fact, he that refused to approach me.' I said, speaking as if in my own defense at a trial. The guilty knot in my stomach was beginning to grow, but I was still defiant. I would not admit that my parents had been right for the past twelve months. After all, as the minister said, we weren't sure of anything yet.  
  
'And now?' She asked  
  
'I don't know.' I answered truthfully  
  
'hmm.' Celia said as she took another sip of her tea.  
  
'And what is that supposed to mean?' I asked more sharply than I had anticipated.  
  
'Nothing.' She answered with a slightly apologetic tone. 'I'm just not sure that I would be able to make such a decision. To go against an entire family.'  
  
This statement did not help the seed of shame that was steadily growing larger. It must have shown on my face because she added hastily.  
  
'Not that I blame you in the slightest. As you said it wasn't your fault, you were simply doing what you thought was best.' For the first time in the past thirty minuets, she took her eyes away from mine and began to stare fixedly at the tablecloth.  
  
'I've noticed you have a lovely wood in the back of the manner.' I said attempting to make light conversation after an akward pause.  
  
'Thank you. But it's not a wood, it's a garden.' She said quickly. Her smile returning apparently as glad as I was to leave the subject of families.  
  
'Really? I didn't notice a wall.' I commented. It was true, I had always thought the area to be open to the muggle street on the other side.  
  
'I'm afraid the vines have begun to cover it, but it's still there.' She said 'Come with me I'll show you.'  
  
She got up from the table and led the way to a hallway just outside the side door of the kitchen. This long hallway quickly explained why the house appeared so large from the front. For, no doubt half of the area of the mansion was taken up in the length of this long narrow passage way. Finally we reached a small white door at the end of the corridor.  
  
Celia reached above the door and pulled a small key from the railing. She placed it inside the lock and eventually opened the door to what looked like a dark jungle.  
  
If this was a garden, it was like no garden I had ever seen before. Darkness from the large leafs of the trees growing over the stones of what could only barely be called a walkway covered most of the area. Vines grew indelibly in every direction yet I could still see no sign of a wall.  
  
'It fell into disrepair, after the street was evacuated. I'm afraid I haven't had time to tend to it- here, it's just behind this vine.' Celia said leading the way along the moss covered stones through a sea of fallen leaves to a large clump of vines that met with the large leafs of the trees. She stepped forward and gently pulled back at the leaves of the vine. It was several minuets before all the green was cleared away to reveal a piece of a golden stoned garden wall.  
  
Behind the vines, the gold seemed ageless. Indeed, it sparkled as if it had been touched brightly by the sun despite the darkness that surrounded it.  
  
'Quite amazing isn't it?' Celia said proudly  
  
'Father put a charm on it when we first bought the manner. It'll stay that way forever.'  
  
'It's beautiful.' I said. Still slightly awe struck. She smiled broadly at me apparently pleased with my reaction. I stared for a few more seconds at the gold for a few more seconds before I noticed a small chip in the golden plated brick of the wall accompanied by several miniscule, white scratches.  
  
Automatically my hand reached to touch it, as if I didn't dare to believe that such a perfect wall could carry the slightest flaw.  
  
As I reached for the area however, I felt Celia tug my hand back. There was an odd look of fear on her face as she too stared at the block while still holding my hand tightly in her own, which I now realized was shaking.  
  
'Celia? What is it?' She stared back at me for a moment, then looked down at the grass attempting to collect herself.  
  
'Of course it's not perfect.' She said, with a false air of non chalantness as if nothing had happened. 'The vines still make scratches. After all, they've been there for so many years-'  
  
At that moment, a faint crash was heard from an upstairs window of the mansion.  
  
'Alieanna will be needing her medicine.' Celia said. She was still very visibly flustered.  
  
'I'll show you to the door.' I followed her, perplexed as we walked the trough the long passage way, to the kitchen. Now I was certain things were not all that they seemed to be at Oswald manner. The man's voice, the garden wall, the monthly potion, all tied together some how, but the more I thought of it the more disconnected everything seemed to be. Who did that voice really belong to? Why was the seemingly ageless garden wall scratched, and why had it been hidden in the first place? All these questions ran silently through my mind as I followed Celia through the kitchen and to the front door. But, there was one question that particularly stood out in my mind. A question that I had been wondering about since the night of the boggart incident.  
  
Celia opened the front door more hesitantly than she had in the past.  
  
'Thank you again Percy' She said, once again putting on her polite air.  
  
'Celia?' I asked 'Yes' She answered rather quickly smiling once again. 'What is it you're afraid of?' I asked in a moment of boldness.  
  
This apparently was not the question she had been expecting. Her face fell as the smile faded slightly from her lips. But she soon recovered herself and answered in a direct straight forward tone:  
  
'Nothing' 


	7. 133 revisited

Chapter seven: #133 revisited  
  
The following Monday, the ministry had flown in to a self-designated caution. The office was filled with a sense of hurried purpose. Employees walked briskly to their offices rarely stopping along the way, only giving curt nods to each other in morning greeting. It was now rare when even the lowest of ministry employees smiled and you would be harder pressed to hear a laugh issuing from the atrium.  
  
Usual gossipers were now rarely ever found encircling the halls. I never so much as heard one whisper about room #13 any longer, not that I would have had any time to listen if they did. When I was not locked up in the courtroom taking down notes from the increasing number of Wizengammot meetings, I was walking the halls running errands from office to office. Very few breaks were ever taken in the courtroom any more. We moved quickly as we could, reviewing the most pressing bills first, forgetting for the most part, the schedule that had been set up before the return of He-who- must-not-be-named.  
  
One such bill was proposition #133, whose review had been moved up from the 13th to the 12th.  
  
'. Due to the nature of recent events, I trust this court will take into more. serious consideration the passing of this legislation.' Ms. Ducarless said bearing her usual smile.  
  
I took down each word spoken meticulously. Celia's reaction to this bill had caused me to take a somewhat more active interest.  
  
The opinions of the rest of the wizengammot also seemed to have changed. Most now approached legislation with a certain amount of fear, and it showed in their faces as most now nodded in approval at Ms. Ducarless's statement.  
  
Dumbledore, the reinstated chief warlock of the Wizengammot, however, was looking rather solemn. I could see him surveying Ms. Ducarless carefully over his half moon spectacles before he spoke.  
  
'I don't believe that there is any doubt that times have indeed changed Ms. Ducarless. The question that remains to be answered now is how much? How far are we willing to go to ensure our own stability at the cost of others?'  
  
For a moment the smile seemed to waver from Emma Ducarless's face as she fixed Dumbledore with a piercing glare. She soon recovered however, and when she next spoke directly to dumbledore, it was with her usual self assured smirk.  
  
" While obviously, Professor Dumbledore, some of us might feel comfortable in the company of werewolves, the rest of us will sleep more soundly knowing that the less honest creatures of this breed do not remain a constant threat.' More murmurings were heard across the courtroom. It was clear that with this statement Ms. Ducarless was attacking Dumbledore's continued affiliation with the werewolf Remus Lupin. Although many other members of the court that I had spoken to disapproved of his involvement with such a man, there were very few who would dare to attack Dumbledore, no matter how indirect, especially not after the return of he-who-must-not-be-named.  
  
Dumbledore however, appeared un phased. As he spoke next it was only to the general court. 'Of course I hold no true persuasion over the passing of this bill. I will however note my assurance that this court, especially those with special interests in this particular field, will be completely ready and able to consider the consequences of such actions.' As he said this, his deep blue eyes landed on Fudge. Fixing him with a piercing glare. I could not understand why.  
  
Fudge had been oddly silent through out this whole ordeal. Now as I looked at him, very little colour was left in his cheeks and he was once again running his hand over his brow. When he next spoke it was with a rather hesitant stutter.  
  
'yes well, if you.er. have no more to add Ms.Ducarless-'  
  
'Actually, minister, if I may.' Ms. Ducarless said, her smirk broadening as she pulled several sheets of paper from her brief case. 'I have taken the liberty to create a comprehensive list of currently unregistered werewolves over the past year.' Fudge who know looked even more flustered, motioned for me to take the papers from her and give them to him, I did so.  
  
'I believe if you investigate the.er.person's on this list, you will find it to be quite accurate.' Ducarless said as fudge milled over the papers in front of him. Even as I continued to take down the notes from the meeting I could see the little colour left in Fudge's face drain out of it as he continued to read the list.  
  
'Very well Ms. Ducarless. This will of course be.er. investigated.' Fudge swallowed slowly running a hand once more across his brow  
  
' Now if there is nothing further.' Fudge looked around the room for confirmation, which he received.  
  
'All those in favor of proposition 133.' I could tell immediately that over half the Wizengammot had raised their hands. It was already apparently clear that the motion would pass.  
  
'All opposed.' No more than half a dozen members of the court raised their hands, including Dumbledore and Jane Brightman, who had kept silent during the hearing but was now staring at Fudge looking both oddly bewildered and livid.  
  
'Abstentions' At this only three members raised their hands including (to my amazment) Fudge himself. Never in my memory had I so much as heard of a minister abstaining from a major bill. 'Motion passes.' Fudge said, though his voice sounded rather weak. 'Court will take a forty five minuet recess for lunch.' I set my quill down and began to file out with the rest of the court. However, as I passed the ministers desk, he beckoned me to him.  
  
What this could mean I could not guess, it had been far less then a month since my last visit to Oswald manner. Surely it would be sometime before more medication needed to be delivered.  
  
'Weasly.' He said with apparent effort to keep his voice calm. 'I would be much obliged if you would tale this-' he tore off a piece of parchment from a small, hand held notebook and handed it to me '-to Charad Street on your way from work this evening'  
  
I stared blankly at the paper in my hands 'Only the note sir?' I asked hesitantly  
  
'Yes only the note Weasly.' He said shortly. He then dismissed me to lunch while he himself remained in the court room, starring down at his papers and fingering the small strands of hair left on his head.  
  
I walked out of the room, closing the door behind me. Rather than confusion now, I felt an odd sense of purpose. I was going back to Charad Street, and this time I would not leave until I had gotten the answers I needed 


	8. Questions and Answers

Disclaimer: I've been bad about putting these up. I'm not J.K Rowling. Nothing is mine except what is mine.  
  
Chapter eight: Questions and Answers  
  
Charad Street came into view once more. This time however, I had no time to contemplate the darkness of the leaves or the incomprehensible noises issuing from the bushes or the barks of trees. Now there was only one thought in my mind. I must unravel the secrets that surrounded this place. If only for my own sanity.  
  
Normally I was not one to question the intent of those in positions above me, however, for the past five months, I had been kept in the dark about everything that Fudge, Dumbledore, The wizengamot was not. For the first time in my life I was not content to be blissfully ignorant. For as long as I could remember, I had only been tolerably filled in on the pieces of my life that were absolutely necessary for me to know, then been told that I would never get anywhere by questioning authority. I had believed them.  
  
Now all that had ever been kept inside me, all that had ever been kept from me was bursting through my thoughts. Perhaps it was the combination of these which had caused my feet to follow as quickly as they ever had to the steps of Oswald Manner. It seemed suddenly that the ending of all obsessions, all ignorance, all bliss, all fear lay just beyond the door step of this house.  
  
I lifted the knocker, ignoring the piercing shriek that had haunted my dreams for months.  
  
The door opened, Celia was standing in the frame looking weary and quite as frazzled as Fudge had earlier after the Wizengammot review. Still, she looked at me showing her familiar polite smile.  
  
'Hello Percy. I had a feeling you'd stop by. Please come in.'  
  
There seemed to be something almost sad in the way she said this. However I had no time to ponder her greeting. I needed answers, and I was going to get them. I followed her into the house.  
  
'The minister asked me to give this to you.' I said handing her the note. Without thinking, I immediately flew into the story of what had happened at the ministry. Of Fudge's abstention, Dumbledore's words about special interests, the list of unregistered Werewolves and how Fudge had been affected by it. None of this seemed to evoke any new emotion in Celia as she routinely led the way from the front room to the kitchen. Once again I had a feeling that somehow she knew everything all ready.  
  
'Celia, What is going on?' I asked sharply after my story had finished in silence.  
  
She stared at me intently for a few seconds, then opened her mouth as if attempting to speak, but for some reason could not articulate what she was thinking.  
  
'What is it?' I prompted once again. I was growing impatient. What ever was happening I certainly had the right to know about it.  
  
Her eyes moved slowly from my face to the note which still lay folded in her hands. She unfolded it and read it's contents silently. A shadow seemed to fall over her face as her eyes moved from left to right several times.  
  
'What does it say?' I asked.  
  
'We're moving.' She said quietly as if not daring to believe the words herself.  
  
'Why?' I asked quickly. 'What does you living here have to do with anything?' She set the note down on the table oblivious to this question  
  
'What does this house have to do with that hearing today? Or the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Or the old legend?'  
  
'It's complicated.' She said hurriedly. I noticed however that her eyes inadvertently darted upward. Not only upward, but in the distinct direction of the stair well. The stair well which led to her sister's bedroom  
  
'It has something to do with her doesn't it?' Celia moved her eyes down ward again guiltily. 'It's something about Alieanna isn't it?' She shook her head, but without any real conviction. She looked as frightened and pale as ever as she lowered herself slowly into one of the wooden chairs by the card table.  
  
Conclusions were beginning to form in my head. The werewolf restrictions, the monthly potion, the illness, the claw markings on the garden wall; all fit together. Once again, Celia seemed to be able to read into my thoughts.  
  
'No. It's got nothing to do with her. This is really not what your thinking.' She said hastily looking up at me, as her eyes widened.  
  
'Then tell me what it is!' I yelled, taking even myself by surprise.  
  
'Please Celia.' I added more calmly. 'Tell me the truth.'  
  
She stared at me for a moment then moved her gaze to the tile patterns on the kitchen floor. It seemed like hours before she spoke.  
  
'If I tell you,' She said slowly. 'You have to promise me one thing.'  
  
'What?' I asked.  
  
But there was no time for an answer. At that moment the unmistakable shriek of the handle could be heard issuing from the front porch. Someone was at the front door.  
  
Celia's face grew, if possible, paler as she quickly jumped up from her seat at the table.  
  
'It's too late.' I heard her whisper to herself as she stared wide eyed and immobile at the door.  
  
'Who is it?' I asked. For it was apparent she knew.  
  
At this question she gave another startled jump and turned once again to me.  
  
'They musn't find you here.' She said swiftly.  
  
'Who musn't find me here?' But once again, there was no time for an adequate answer as the door handle gave another shriek.  
  
She grabbed me by the hand and ushered me to the door of the passageway that led to the garden.  
  
'Stay in here and whatever you do, don't disapparate. If you do they'll hear you.' She said opening the door.  
  
'What is this all-' 'Please! Trust me.' She implored once again as another shriek sounded from the front porch.  
  
'Don't come out until it's over.'  
  
Before I could protest further Celia had shut the door to the passage way. I could here the click of her shoes as they trailed across the kitchen, and the creak of an opening door.  
  
Feeling exceptionally childish, but still resolute in my quest for answers, I bent down to the key hole attempting to view the scene.  
  
'May I help you?' I heard her say in a voice which seemed very forcibly calm.  
  
'Celia Oswald?' I heard a male voice ask briskly. I knew that voice. It belonged to the chief of the magical law enforcement squad Senine volsnick .  
  
'Yes, what is it?' She asked still wearing an expression of forced calm.  
  
I could now vaguely see the form of two men entering the house. One I could easily tell as being the tall, thin form of Volsnick. The other was a man I did not know, but his height alone gave the immediate impression of intimidation. He glared at Celia and began to circle her threateningly.  
  
'We are sent on behalf of the ministry of magic to inform you that you are in current violation of the 133 ammendment of the code of magical beasts.' Volsnick said dryly as if reciting.  
  
The large man moved to take Celia by the arm. She shuffled away looking only slightly shocked.  
  
'If you'll come with us peacefully, things will look better for you.' Volsnick Said quietly.  
  
She stared wearily for a moment at the large form before nodding her head silently. The man grabbed her forcefully by the right arm. She flinched slightly but did not protest as he led her out the door. Volsnick Followed in their wake. I heard the slow creak of the door closing. Then nothing.  
  
It was several minuets before I dared open the door of the passageway. I walked out slowly. The old manner some how felt larger now then I had ever remembered it. The clicks of my shoes echoed through the silent walls as they might have in a cathedral.  
  
What happened? I had come here for answers. It was strange, then, that all that burned through my mind were more questions. So many more questions.  
  
I had to return to the Ministry. That was were they were taking her, I was sure. Over night criminals were never sent to Azkaban on their first night. They were sent to court for review first. If I wanted an answer that was where I had to go.  
  
Convinced of this conclusion I headed toward the front door when a piece of parchment caught my eye.  
  
The note the minister had given to Celia was lying on the kitchen counter. I picked it up hurriedly.  
  
As I unfolded it, I was bewildered to find only one word written:  
  
Fourteen 


	9. The Fifth Corridor

Disclaimer: I don't own anything  
  
Chapter 9: The fifth corridor  
  
For several minuets I simply stared immobile at the note in my hand. This perhaps made the least sense of anything that had happened so far.  
  
How could one word indicate a move? How could one word written on a piece of parchment indicate anything at all? I realized that it must have been a code. Of course such a note would be written in code in case it fell into the wrong hands. It would be catastrophic if such a note was discovered by the wrong people not only for Celia, but for the minister as well. If he was found to have ties to a werewolf it could very well be the end of his career.  
  
But, while this conclusion was well enough to explain the note, it left me with still more questions  
  
What right had they to take Celia? It seemed to me that if anyone was to be arrested it was her sister. After all, the monthly potion had been made for Alieanna. Alieanna had been suffering from a mysterious illness. If any one was a werewolf it was her. Celia was simply looking after her out of a family duty.  
  
Unless she had lied. Unless the potion was for her. But what motive would she have to lie to me?  
  
I folded the note at the crease once more and, hesitantly, placed it in the pocket of my robes. As I walked out of the kitchen and into the living room, I inadvertently glanced up at the portrait of Celia's mother.  
  
She had left her chair and was staring in the direction of the door. Tears were running down her cheeks as she closed her eyes and whispered 'Forgive me, forgive me' over and over again.  
  
I considered asking her what she meant by this, but thought better of it.  
  
If I wanted answers I would have to go the ministry. There, at least I would be able to find a file. something to tell me what was going on. I had the clearence necessary to enter the filing system.  
  
I quickly disapperated from the house and into the atrium of the Ministry. The slowed pace of the few employees still meandering about the green house gave the distinct weariness of the end of the day. I could indeed tell by the light on the ceiling that the sun was setting off to the west.  
  
I picked up my pace to the front doors and flashed my clearance badge at the wand check station. The filing room was on the third floor, so that was where I was headed. Before I reached the elevator however, I saw the minister walking towards me. He walked briskly past me saying:  
  
'Weasly. Follow me.'  
  
Bewildered, I turned and followed him cautiously in the opposite direction of the lift. We continued walking downward towards the fifth corridor. This contained rooms that, to my knowledge, no one had used since the days of You-Know-Who. The courtrooms then had been used to try magical creatures suspected of working for the dark side. My mind immediately jumped to werewolves and proposition 133. But, the case couldn't have come to trial so soon. Could it?  
  
'Sir?' I asked a perturbed and frazzled looking Fudge as we neared the entrance to the fifth corridor.  
  
'A rather sudden case has been .er. investigated this evening Weasly.' He said while we passed several rather abandoned looking rooms bearing the #1,2,3, and4.  
  
'It concerns the passing of proposition #133. And certain members of the Wizengammot have.uh.requested that we proceed with the initial review as soon as possible.' We turned the corner and passed #'s 5,6,7,and8. I began to vaguely recall the rumors about a room #13, shrouded in the fifth corridor. Those were just myths, weren't they?  
  
'Of course the entire trial will not be held this evening, the case is far too, er, complicated. However, they seem to think that it would be best if the basics were reviewed tonight. ah here we are.' A slightly relieved feeling emmited in the pit of my stomach as we stopped out side door #11.  
  
We stepped inside a smaller courtroom then I was used to. However, as I reminded myself, these court rooms were meant to try smaller cases. The room was otherwise identical to the courtrooms used in the bottom corridor.  
  
I looked sideways at Fudge as he made his way up to the top level seat. He was extremely pale, and his hands as well as his face seemed to be unduly shaking.  
  
For the first time perhaps, I began to think about Fudge's relationship to the entire situation.  
  
If this case we were supposedly reviewing was Celia's case, obviously fudge would be nervous about revealing his ties to a known werewolf. But, his ties would remain to her Father, not Celia. He could deny that he had any knowledge that his college's daughter was unregistered. So why should this man whom I had always admired be shaking feverishly like one who was already condemned.  
  
He took his seat, apparently attempting to remain calm, even as the quill he placed in his hand began to shake forcefully. I stared around the room; only the Minister's senior staff seemed to be present. Of course one could not call the entire court into session for a mere review. Only a few members of the Wizengammot were stationed around the courtroom, I counted about twenty in all. These included Emma Ducareless and a few of the other elders.  
  
I sat down in my usual tabled seat to the right of Fudge. It was not long after every one had been seated that the large double doors burst open and Volsnick entered the courtroom, followed by the large man whom I had seen at Oswald Manner still dragging Celia by the arm.  
  
She looked calmer now then she had at the manner. Her eyes had darted downward to the floor of the courtroom, yet there was something almost defiant in the way she walked.  
  
The large man led her to the chair in the middle of the courtroom and shoved her rather violently down into it. Only seconds after she had been placed in the chair, the metal chains at the bottom of the floor began to coil up her legs and arms binding her there.  
  
'High court initial review The twelfth of June.' Fudge began. I reluctantly took up the quill and began writing his words onto the parchment in front of me.  
  
'Into offences committed under the Code of Magical Beasts concerning the amendment of Werewolf registration by Celia Oswald resident at number 13 Charad street, London.' At this address several mutterings broke out around the courtroom. It was no more then I expected, the street was supposed to be abandoned.  
  
'Miss Oswald would you like to enter a plea at this time?' Fudge asked not looking up from his notes.  
  
My hand stopped at the end of this sentence. I stared down at Celia whose eyes were still staring intently at the floor beneath her feet.  
  
'Guilty.' She said softly, so that even in the small court room it was barely audible.  
  
This seemed to be enough for Fudge however. He began to speak again in a much louder and more confident voice.  
  
'You realize that you are admitting that you knowingly, and purposefully failed to register yourself as a Werewolf with the Ministry of Magic?' he asked.  
  
Celia nodded, though I noticed that her hands had begun to shake inside the chains that bound them to the chair.  
  
'And that by doing so you knowingly endangered the health and lives of others?'  
  
Again Celia nodded.  
  
'You admit that you failed registration of your own free will and were not persuaded to do so by any other party?' Fudge asked this question very slowly. For the first time his eyes moved from the notes on his desk to gaze down at Celia.  
  
There was a rather long pause.  
  
As I looked once more from my parchment to Celia, I saw her eyes flit quickly in my direction. But no sooner had this happened than she reverted her gaze back to the floor, biting her lower lip.  
  
'Yes' She answered finally.  
  
'Well then' Fudge said sounding oddly relieved as he returned to his notes.  
  
'The plea being entered, a sentencing hearing will be scheduled for.'  
  
'Minister, if I may-' Emma Ducarless stood up from her seat to the left of the center  
  
'Yes Ms. Ducarless' Fudge said.  
  
'I would like to remind the court of amendment 133 which was passed this morning, which instigates the use of execution in cases such as this. In view of this I would ask that this case be reverted to the department for the disposal of magical creatures'  
  
At the word execution Celia's eyes moved very suddenly from the floor to Ms. Ducarless. A look of pure terror seized her face as her whole body began to shake visibly. Once Ms. Ducarless had finished Celia turned her gaze to Fudge who was once again consumed in his notes  
  
'Very well,' He said rather quietly. ' In conjunction with amendment 133 the defendant will be sent to the department for the disposal of Magical Creatures for sentencing.' I could hear the beginnings of more muttering from the committee but before the usual noise could take hold a much louder voice came from the defendants chair  
  
'Father Please!'  
  
The room fell silent. Celia who had been starring pleadingly at Fudge shaking with fright now reverted her gaze to the floor once more as if just realizing what she had said. I could feel the energy of the entire room centered towards Fudge, but I kept my eyes on Celia.  
  
It couldn't be. It simply wasn't possible. People would know if Fudge had a child.  
  
Still as I watched Celia's face, as her eyes began to well up with tears even as she focused on the gravel beneath her feet, I knew it was true.  
  
'Court is adjourned' Fudge said finally, as if attempting to forget what had been said. Willing the others to forget what they had heard. Which of course was impossible  
  
The tall man touched Celia's arm once again as the chains binding her to the chair fell. She looked only slightly over her shoulder in my direction as they led her away. To where I did not know.  
  
The rest of the Wizengammot slowly began to rise from their seats. Still muttering to each other. I knew what they were saying. This would be catastrophic for the ministry if the prophet found out. Comparisons were already being made to Barty Crouch.  
  
I left the court room feeling more betrayed then I had ever remembered being. First Celia now Fudge. A man I trusted more then my own father. It seemed that every one in my life was hiding something from me. I would never truly know anything.  
  
I walked down the corridor wishing only to wake up in my bed and find that the entire ordeal had simply been a nightmarish dream. I walked no further then the double doors, however, when I heard a voice whisper behind me.  
  
'Weasly.'  
  
I turned. To my surprise Jane Brightman was standing in the hall way.  
  
'Yes?' I asked. I was growing used to the feeling of bewilderment.  
  
She beckoned me closer to her. When I approached, she produced a cauldron. It was filled with what I now recognized to be wolfsbane potion.  
  
'Quickly. You have to take this to room 12.'  
  
'May I ask why?' I said coldly. I had long since grown impatient with being told by my superiors what had to be done. Ms. Brightman rolled her eyes appearing just as impatient as I was  
  
'You know as well as I do that the full moon is tomorrow night. If she doesn't take the potion, it'll be a disaster.' She said.  
  
'Does the minister know?' I asked  
  
'No. He told me it wouldn't be necessary to make it tonight. Now of course I know why. Having the Oswald girl turn into a fully fledged monster will certainly strengthen Emma Ducarless's case.' She said.  
  
'How long have you known about this?' I asked darkly.  
  
She gave another impatient eye roll. 'Long enough.' She replied shortly. 'Now will you take it to her or not?'  
  
I paused for a few seconds. I had never, in my life, so much as dreamed of disobeying an athourity figure. Let alone the Minister of magic. Doing such a thing could jepordize my entire career.  
  
But then I thought of all the questions I still needed answered. All the lies I had been spoon fed. All the secrets and betrayals. I thought of the look of utter disgrace on Celia's face as she left the courtroom. A sudden daring seized me.  
  
'Yes. I'll do it.' I said  
  
'Good.' She answered quickly. 'I've forged a note with Fudge's signature. That should be enough to get past the guards at the door.' She said handing me the cauldron along with a folded piece of parchment.  
  
'Good evening.' And with a nod she walked out the double doors and into the atrium.  
  
After a few seconds, I reluctantly set off in the opposite direction. Down the fifth corridor, where I would stop in front of door #12. Directly opposite #13. 


	10. The Last Secret

**Chapter 10: The Last Secret**

As I approached the door, quite from what I was expecting, there were no guards or bars or even locks on what appeared to be the outside of an ordinary office. However, as I listened more carefully I could hear what sounded like the cracking of a whip. A high pitched whimper of pain quickly followed this.

There was another crack, then a yelp.

Another crack, then a scream.

The sound of quick shuffling overtook the whip and I could hear what sounded like chains rattling on the inside of the room accompanied by more screeches. The sound of these was more horrible than anything I could ever have dreamed of hearing on Charad Street. They were high and earsplitting, like the sound of metal scraping on metal. I had never heard, a human, even in their darkest hour, make such desperate woeful cries.

What were they doing to her?

No sooner had I placed my hand on the door to find out, then I heard two male voices coming from the inside of the room heading closer to the door. Within seconds two large, muscular men emerged from the very black inside of the room. Each was carrying a padlock, which they were now turning to place on the door, along with a makeshift card board sign which read simply: Werewolf

One of the guards I recognized as the tall man from the hearing. He was the first of the two to notice me.

'And what do you want?' He asked eyeing me with a suspicious sneer.

Fighting back the urge to reply smartly to his rudeness, I gave my explanation about the medicine and showed him the forged note. Even as he read it the suspicious look never left his face. I began to feel anxious.

'Fine,' He said, however reluctantly. 'Just leave that with us, we'll take it in.'

He made a grab for the cauldron. I pulled it away.

'The minister requested that I deliver it in person,' I lied.

I couldn't quite explain why, but I wanted to see Celia. I needed her to explain everything to me.

The guard stared down at me for some time before finally:

'Suit your self then' He signaled to the other guard to open the door.

'Good luck mate,' The other guard said as I passed 'I only know I wouldn't wanna be alone with one a them'

The door shut behind me.

I immediately noticed the change. I was standing in a pitch black circular room. I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders. The temperature seemed to have taken a sudden plunge with the closing of the door.

This place felt more like a tower or dungeon then an office, as it appeared to be from the outside. It took a moment for my eyes to find my bearings, before I found the only flicker of light issuing from a high, small window to my left. There, below the window, shivering with her arms wrapped tightly around her bare chest, sat Celia.

Looking at her, I could now tell what had made the cracking sound from the out side.

The red lashes made a criss-cross pattern across her back leading all the way up to her shoulders where I could make out long purple colored bruises that ran down her arms from where she had been grabbed by the guard. Blood from the marks covered her completely nude body, which she had struggled to cover with her arms as she heard the door open.

'You came?' She asked quietly. Her eyes widened and her lips curled upward.A sting of pain flickered behind her eyes, the right of which was large and black There were several prints on her face which looked as though they belonged to the sole of a boot. I thought of the guard at the door, and his steel toed black boots. A surge of anger threatened to envelop me. I kept it at bay.

Her long blond hair, which was usually kept neatly off her face, now hung limply around her shoulders. A very small rope had been gripped tightly around her neck, keeping her tethered to a pole in the middle of the room. Her feet and hands had also been bound together; I could see the ropes cutting into her wrists making large red gashes.

'Your medicine,' I said shortly. At the moment I could think of nothing else to say

'Thank you Mr. Weasely,' She said with her usual polite nod.

'I've told you it's Percy,' I said, though rather coldly

'I apologize. But I wasn't sure that you would wish for us to be so informally associated under the circumstances,' Here her voice cracked slightly but she was still wearing the ghost of a smile.

She turned back to face the window. I thought of leaving. No doubt that was what she was expecting and I knew that I did not want to stay in that freezing dungeon longer than was absolutely necessary. But then I thought of all the questions I still needed answered, and somehow my feet were incapable of movement. I stood in the same spot on the cold stone floor

'I truly am lucky you know,' Celia said after a long silence.

'How so?' I asked.

'Most prisoners are sent straight to Azkaban after their court review. But since Azkaban does not accommodate magical creatures, I was placed here instead. One of the perks of being a monster I suppose.'

She valiantly attempted a small laugh before she shivered. I could tell the temperature had dropped again. Celia placed her arms around her bare shoulders. I moved closer.

'Here' I said removing my cloak. I placed it over her shoulders.

'Thank you' She said quietly.

All the questions I had wanted to ask, all the answers I had been planning on receiving had some how faded from my mind. Now, it seemed, there was only her.

I pulled myself down along the wall and sat beside her on the ground. There was silence for quite a while.

Then suddenly she gazed up into my eyes, as if making some deep decision.

'I should have shown you before…'

She motioned for me to come closer to her. When I did she pulled the right end of the cloak from her arm to reveal small white claw markings, identical to the ones I had seen on the garden wall at Oswald manner. I bent down to examine them further. As I did however, Celia took my hand and placed it gently on top of the marks on her skin.

Before I could do or say anything the room began to fade away.

I felt a deep falling sensation in the pit of my stomach. The area around me was swirling my head was feeling lighter every second as my eyes roamed hopelessly around the circling black and white mist

Finally, I felt my feet come to a stop on solid ground. Once I had found my bearings, I found myself not in the dungeon as before, but in a house that I recognized.

Even though Oswald Manner was colored dimly and bore an almost faded look, I could tell that this was a far cry from the blandly decorated, small home in which Celia lived. The lavish golden love seat along with a high, gold trimmed table replaced the moth eaten sofa and small coffee table in the living room.

The house seemed to be empty in this, was it a memory? I had, of course read of pensives, perhaps what I was experiencing now was similar to entering one of those. I walked slowly around the room for a few more minutes before I heard footsteps creaking from the stairs.

Soon, a small girl emerged at the stair well. She looked to be about twelve or thirteen. Even so she seemed particularly thin for her age. She had shoulder length light brown hair, and gray eyes. Celia's eyes.

The girl looked around the room hesitantly for a moment, then slowly, made her way across the living room and into the adjoining dining room, which I had known as the simple small kitchen in the modern manner.

She walked to the small wooden door through which Celia had shown me the garden. The girl stopped for a moment before turning the silver knob. I followed her down the corridor. I didn't feel as if I had a choice at the moment.

She began to walk faster. I had to sprint to keep up with her as she neared the door at the end of the hallway. We finally reached the end. The girl rattled the door knob. It was locked.

Quickly she pulled her wand out from underneath her robes.

'Aloham-' 'Alieanna!' A rather frenzied male voice cut her off. I whipped around, so did she.

I let out an indistinct noise, though neither of my counterparts seemed to hear me. From the back of the corridor came a winded and frazzled though much younger looking Fudge. The bald spots on his head were now filled in with dark brown hair and he was much thinner, but there was no mistaking those small eyes.

'Alieanna. What are you doing here?' He asked sharply.

'Thought I'd go for a stroll in the garden.' The girl answered staring at him defiantly.

'I've told you it's far too dangerous there at night. Now get back inside.' Fudge insisted

'How dangerous can it be, if Mum stays out there once a month?' The girl said frowning. Fudge suddenly looked horror struck.

'I know you've been trying to hide it from me Dad. I've got a right to know!' She pointed her wand once again at the door.

'Alohamora!' She said. The door lock clicked and she quickly turned the knob

'Alieanna don't-' Fudge began. But she had already started out the door. I followed her Fudge did not. I soon knew why.

We rounded the corner to the garden wall, which, apparently had not yet been covered by vines as it still shimmered in the light of the full moon. Near the edge of the wall, with it's back facing us, was a fully-grown werewolf.

Both Alieanna and I stopped dead as the wolf turned to us. Its teeth were barred in a low horrible growl. In less then a second it was flying at us through the air.

I pushed myself the ground. I heard a scream. Then the faint sound of a crying baby, before I was suddenly off my feet again. Flying as I had been before.

I felt my feet land on a wooden floor. I opened my eyes slowly. The scene was still faded. I was still in a memory. It was a house again, but not a mansion. This seemed to be a small, modest bedroom.

It was not long before I heard the door knob begin to slowly turn.The door opened to reveal the same thin girl with light brown hair and grey eyes, though she seemed older now, perhaps nineteen. She entered the room quickly,  
seemingly anxious. Her eyes darted to a small clock on the bed stand and then to the window, where it seemed that dusk had newly fallen. She began to make her way to a small door across the way. I began to follow her.

'Alieanna?' Came a very small, high pitched voice. We both turned sharply. A very small girl, around six years old, with blonde hair and grey eyes was standing in the door way.

'Celia' Alieanna said wearily. Her voice was kind but her manner was still quite anxious

'I can't sleep,' Celia said stepping into the room and rubbing her eyes.

'Celia please go back up stairs. I'll see you in the morning.' Alieanna threw an anxious glance in the direction of the window again.

'But I can't go back alone! ' Celia was on the verge of tears. Alieanna suddenly doubled over in pain.

'Celia please-' she managed to whisper before she became very tense. Her body was ridged and straight as a board.

'Alieanna?' Celia said stepping closer. Her voice was shaking. Then she gave out a scream. I couldn't watch. I knew what had happened. The sound of four paws leaving the ground told me everything.

I felt the flying sensation once more before landing on the floor of the dungeon. Celia's eyes were still boaring into mine. She had lifted my hand from her arm and set it back down on the ground.

'A werewolf's claw marks,' she began softly. 'Conceal the history of a werewolf. They show when the wizard or witch was first bitten as well as the bites of all their victims.'

'Then Alieanna-?' I began hesitantly, pulling myself up from the floor.

'No, I didn't make her up. She was my sister.' Celia answered anticipating my question.

'She was never content to take our father's word that our Mother had sudden emergency's at different periods of the month. She eventually figured out the truth, and well, you saw what happened.' Celia's voice began to crack once more, but after a moment she went on.

'I was only a baby. I don't know exactly what else happened that night, nineteen years ago. The night the legend about Charad Street began.' I stared at her quizzically.

'Well, surely your Father…the Minister…' It felt strange to think of Fudge in such an informal manner. I took a moment to let it sink in before continuing.

'He must have told you something about what happened! What about your Mother?'

Celia looked up at me, a new sadness seemed to fill her eyes

'Father never spoke much about the incident if he could help it. I think it was too painful for him. All though, he has told me since, that Mother escaped over the garden wall that night and ran into the trees, never to be seen again. He would never tell me any of the other details. I know as little as you do about what happened to the others, the Aurors and the rest of them. To tell the truth I didn't _want _to know.' She pulled my cloak tighter around her.

'Why did you move back after so many years?' I asked. I was too anxious to worry about appearing too forward any more. I was finally getting the answers I had sought for so long.

'I have never left that house.' She answered quietly

'Father put a charm on the numbers to make the address change each year. He allowed the outside to fall too pieces as the houses around us had, and he changed the inside of the mansion every once in a while, just to be safe. He stayed in the mansion with us until Alieanna turned 17, then he moved away, coming only when necessary. It was very dangerous to his career to remain there. Despite the precautions. And of course with out Father's work we would be no where.' Celia added the last bit hastily. As if convincing herself of the sensibility of Fudge's actions.

'What happened after-?' I asked almost not daring to finish the sentence. Celia stared out the window for a moment.

'After I was bitten,' She began slowly. ' I remember waking up the morning after. I didn't remember much, only that Alieanna had told me to go back to my room, then that she had been acting sick. I asked Father where she was. He told me not to worry, that it would be all right, and that I needed sleep. Later he told me that she'd disappeared, like Mother. I would never see her again either.' She gave another shiver before continuing.

'After that, I learned to look after myself. Father would stop by about once a week to make sure I had food, and sometimes to give me lesson books, when I became old enough to learn magic. It was far too dangerous for me to go to school.' She added almost wistfully.

'Then when I was about twelve, my father came with a potion. He said he'd had it made for me, he told me that if I drank it, it would help. He didn't have time to explain further but-I'm sure you understand.' She looked at me. I nodded. She turned back toward the window. I could feel the wind seeping through it causing the temperature to drop even further. I was beginning to miss the cloak that Celia was now pulling tighter across her shoulders.

'He is a very good man.' She said quietly. I pondered this in my head, but no matter how I tried I could not understand it.

I thought I had seen blind loyalty in my parent's devotion to Dumbledore. But as I thought of Fudge who had basically condemned his daughter to death, who had ordered her to this dungeon, who had, no doubt, dictated that she should be stripped, beaten, and tethered like a dangerous, wild animal, how she still saw this man as "good", my parents actions seemed quite reasonable indeed.

'Who was the man you were talking to, the day You-Know-Who- returned?' I asked ignoring the peculiar sensation in my stomach. This subject still brought up feelings of slight jealousy

'His name is Remus Lupin.' She said. Now I knew where I had heard his voice. He was the Werewolf who had taught Defense against the Dark arts in my last year at Hogwarts

'He was trying to convince me to spy on the ministry for Dumbledore. Of course I declined.' She said rather valiantly

'Is there anything else you wanted to know?' Celia asked after a rather long pause. I began to shake my head no, before remembering that I still had one more burning question.

'Why did you lie to me?' I moved closer as she looked up at me, smiling almost coyly at this question.

'It-it was rather silly of me. But, you have to understand, I…' She cut herself off abruptly and swallowed. She spoke her next words very slowly, as if she had taken great care in choosing them.

'I've read all about what most people think of werewolves. They don't trust us, and they have reason not to. We are monsters after all.' Her coy smile began to fade as she said this and she looked away from me, down to the floor.

'My Father taught me never to become too friendly with strangers. He told me that none of them would understand none of them would accept me. He said that he was the only person I could trust. For a very long time I believed him. And then you came.' She looked very hesitantly up at me once more, though she was not smiling now.

'The moment I saw you I knew that, some how, you were different from the people my Father had warned me about.' The ghost of a smile returned to her face.

'I wanted, more than anything, to tell you what I was, to tell you everything, anything you wanted to know. But, there was still the risk that you would stop coming when I told you. That you would leave me alone the moment you found out. And I know I should have told you the truth from the beginning. But …' She stopped abruptly biting her lower lip.

'You once asked me what I was afraid of. It is true, to some extent that I've never really feared anything in my life. Not even my transformations. In some strange way, I began to feel that I deserved the pain that came with the moon. I became accustomed to it. But when you came everything changed some how.'

She looked at me as though I were some curious beast. It occurred to me for the first time that this was possibly the longest amount of time in my life that I had ever kept silent. I did not see the need to speak. She continued…

'My feelings, my thoughts, somehow became more…real, more…human I suppose you could say. When you were there, when you were with me, I didn't feel like a monster that was only being allowed to live out of kindness. For the first time in my life I felt…like I didn't simply belong to Oswald manor or to my father, but that I could possibly belong to…something else. Something much grander. That frightened me to some extent.'

She paused and took a very shallow breath. I couldn't tell where this speech was leading. I opened my mouth several times in an attempt to prompt her, but words failed me and in the end I stood silent.

'But what I was most afraid of, was the thought of you leaving. If you left, all the sense of belonging, the sense of equality I felt, would disappear with you. I would go back, to being just another monster, like I was before you found me. So I suppose you could say that what I was afraid of the entire time was…you.'

She stared up at me wide eyed. She had told me the truth. Perhaps for the first time since we had met. And in doing so, she laid her heart and soul at my feet, giving me complete and free reign to ruin them, trample them, reject them if I so desired. But she trusted that I would recive them, whole and unspoiled as they were. There was the chance that I would reject her. She knew that. But I could see the same trust she placed in her Father shining in her eyes when she looked to me.

And somehow, I couldn't accept it.

I began to look away.I found it difficult to look her in the eye. My own pitiful soul knew what she refused to see. She had been right not to tell me what she was. She had been right not to trust me.

What would have happened if I had known from the beginning? Perhaps I would still have dropped off the potion at the request of the minister. But I would have made a point of not entering the house. I would not have wanted to have any verbal contact with a werewolf. It would have been too damaging to my career.

'It was selfish of me not to tell you,' She whispered. 'I'm sorry'

I forced myself to look at her. She was still staring at me, looking as though my silence had done more damage to her than the death sentence of ten thousand judges from the world's highest courts.

She began to stare back out the window. In the faint light of the setting sun I could see tears pouring, silently down the side of her face.

At that moment I wanted more than anything to put my arms around her to comfort her. I wished with my entire being that I could receive what she had offered, to be able to freely accept the truth that she had laid at my feet. But I could not force my body to follow the foolish whims of my heart.

Instead my feet remained completely paralyzed as I watched her place her head against the side of the wall.

When my feet finally did find their bearing, I began to head towards the door. I had learned all I needed to know. There was no reason for me to stay.I knocked once, and heard the guard begin to unlock the door to let me out. I looked back at Celia. Her head was still resting along the side of the wall. Then she sat up and made a motion to shrug the cloak that I had given her off her shoulders

'No. Keep it' I said.

She hesitated, then nodded silently pursing her lips together. The guard opened the door, and I began to walk towards it before her voice, though very soft, stopped me.

'I love you' she whispered.

I stood by the door for a moment. The guard was holding it open, tapping his foot impatiently. I straightened myself up and walked out, not daring to look back.


	11. Of Love and Hate

A/N: Sorry this took so long to post. I've been a bit busy. I hope you like it all the same!  
  
Chapter 11: Of Love and Hate  
  
The next few days passed by in a daze of normalcy. My work came as usual. I attended trials. More un registered Werewolves had been rounded up and no doubt sent to identical dungeons in the fifth corridor. More of my reports were due. I hardly noticed any of this.  
  
I found that my career, which had once been the corner stone of my life, was beginning to matter less and less. I knew the moment I had taken the wolfsbane potion to Celia's dungeon I was turning my back on what I once held dear. After all, the minister was bound to find out after the full moon. Then I would be finished.  
  
Sure enough the week after the full moon an inter office message flew in through the door to my office.  
  
I was to appear at the minister's office at five o'clock that evening to discuss "a matter of up most importance."  
  
I didn't even take a moment to consider what matter he could wish to speak about. It was clear that he knew about the potion. He would have found out when the guards reported to him that Celia had not turned into a ravenous monster when the moonlight filled her dungeon.  
  
The hours seemed to float carelessly by. It was as if my career was not in jeopardy and I was simply living the monotony of a normal day. I amazed my self by not thinking nervously of the meeting with the minister during the hours leading up to it. Of course I was concerned about my status. After all, I had worked so hard to earn the position I now enjoyed. Yet some how, I began to find that the part of me that cared about anything so mundane as a career was slowly drifting off.  
  
Finally at 10 till five I headed down the left corridor to the minister's office. I found the walk much longer now then I had remembered it being. It was as if the walls along the hall were forcing me to think, about the impulsiveness of my actions. I normally disapproved of living life on impulse. Thorough thought was needed for everything you did or else you would find your self at the complete mercy of others. Living with out any real control of your own life.  
  
What was it then that had spurred me so impulsively to defy the minister that night? Was it curiosity? Perhaps.  
  
I remembered very well my thirst for answers to the many questions I had. Even now curiosity, though not as strong as it had been that night, was an evident force in my life. I still didn't have all the answers I needed.  
  
But, curiosity, however biting it was, was not strong enough to pull me to take such a great risk. There were other ways I could have answered the questions I had. Perhaps guilt then had spurred me to take the forged note to the dungeon. I had felt guilty that I had not spoken for her at the court review, even though I was still not certain of what I could have said. I felt guilty that I could not do more to save her.  
  
But, I had always found that feelings of guilt left me after some time of ignoring them. The guilty feelings I had once felt about leaving my family, for example, had long since evaporated. There was no need to take action simply on the basis of guilt.  
  
What was it then? Why had I gone to the dungeon that evening?  
  
I had wanted to see her. I didn't want to hear the truth from any one else, not even the minister himself. I couldn't explain why, but I needed to hear everything from Celia. And, in truth, I found a comfort from simply being with her. As if her mere presence soothed away all the deepening guilt, curiosity, or frustration I felt  
  
So in essence it was Celia, herself, which had inspired me to act against my better judgment and defy my superiors. Why should one person be able to affect me so deeply?  
  
Celia had spoken of love. Did I feel the same for her? Could it possibly be that love was what had spurred me on that night?  
  
I reached the door of the minister's office. I began to walk towards the door when I heard voices, rather loud voices, issuing from the other side.  
  
'-Weather it was right or wrong is not the issue,' Fudge was speaking. Though it was not clear to whom. What was clear however, was that he was in one of his purple faced ranting modes. This did not give me much comfort.  
  
'The point is that you went behind my back, after all that we agreed to!' Fudge continued.  
  
'I know what I agreed to. I just couldn't watch an innocent girl, who is already facing death go through a transformation on top of everything else.' Jane Brightman answered him.  
  
In spite of myself I leaned closer to the door. I had wondered about her involvement in the entire situation. Now I was going to find out.  
  
'Do you have any idea what this will look like if the prophet hears about this?' Fudge asked furiously.  
  
'With all due respect sir, she is your daughter.' Brightman replied. Her tone had grown quieter and more controlled in contrast to Fudge.  
  
'Thanks to you the entire nation may soon know that their minister has been harboring a werewolf for the past 13 years.' Continued Fudge as if she had not spoken.  
  
'Oh, and I can tell you what'll happen then. Investigations, trials, public uprising, chaos- last thing we need now.' Fudge began to bluster.  
  
'I told you all this when I hired you to make that potion!' He said. His voice had risen once more.  
  
'And if I recall correctly then you were as compliant as anything "Yes Minister. What ever you say minister", If I had ever known what you were capable of then-'  
  
'Things change sir. And I'm afraid that after everything I've seen I can't simply sit by and watch you stomp out werewolves when there are death eaters still on the loose-'  
  
'I WILL NOT BE TOLD HOW TO RUN MY GOVERNMENT!' Fudge shouted at the top of his voice. A deadening silence followed for quite some time after this.  
  
'You will not mention this, any of this, to any one. Do you understand me?' The minister's voice was quiet so that I had to nearly press my ear to the door in order to hear him.  
  
Another long silence.  
  
'Yes sir.' Brightman finally answered, though it was very forced, and the way she said 'sir' clearly stated that she had nothing but contempt for the man standing across from her.  
  
'I've already warned the guards that they are not to mention the incident. As for Weasly, I shall be informing him of his demotion tonight. Hopefully that will help him to keep his mouth shut. All we can do now is hope that the prophet doesn't come sneaking around-'  
  
'And if they do sir, what will they find besides your ties to a werewolf?' Brightman asked with a lighter, though still contemptuous air.  
  
I expected Fudge to fly into another rant. Instead however, there was another rather tense silence.  
  
'What do you mean by that?' Fudge said quickly in a high pitched voice quite unlike the one he had been using before that moment  
  
'I mean what will happen if the press finds out who was responsible for the Charad street business 19 years ago? What will happen when they learn who really killed those aurors and hit wizards?'  
  
There was another pause. It couldn't possibly be. It was true I no longer held Fudge in the highest regard. But I still found it hard to believe him capable of murder.  
  
'Did you think I wouldn't find out?' Brightman said in an almost amused tone. When the minister did not respond, she continued. 'I worked the whole thing out when you hired me to make that potion. It wasn't exactly difficult. When I heard where the potion was being taken, it was sort of down hill from there. And very convenient, making up that story about your other daughter running away, seeing as her mother did the same thing wasn't it?' she said as if basking in her own cleverness.  
  
'Couldn't handle having two werewolves in the same house could you? Obviously one of them had to go. And now, if they sentence the other one to death, you'll have a clean slate!' I dropped beside the wall next to the door of the office. This made absolutely no sense. It was simply impossible.  
  
'If you so much as mention that you were hear tonight to any one, I will make you rue the day you ever entered this building.' Fudge said in a quiet voice, but none the less dangerous voice. I had never heard him threaten any one in such a manner.  
  
There was a pause. Then the sound of feet walking towards the door. Hurriedly, I picked myself back up from the floor where I had fallen. Jane Brightman exited the office. She stared solemnly at me for a few seconds.  
  
'He'll see you now.' She said finally, before walking back down the hallway. I walked slowly into the office.  
  
'Close the door behind you Weasly.' The minister said gruffly from behind his desk. He shuffled the notes on his desk for several moments, as I stood stiffly by the door.  
  
'How much of that did you hear?' Fudge asked suddenly without looking up from his notes.  
  
'What? I-' I stammered.  
  
'Well? Speak up boy, how much did you hear?' Fudge asked quickly looking up at me.  
  
'Enough.' I said fairly quietly.  
  
'Enough then, to know that I am having you transferred back to the international magical cooperation office.' The minister said moving from behind his desk. For some reason, this revelation did not have the effect on me I might have thought it would. I merely nodded curtly avoiding Fudge's eye contact as he seemed to be avoiding mine.  
  
'I have made many mistakes in my life time.' Fudge said pompously.  
  
'One of them apparently being so naïve as to think that you would not begin to ask questions, no matter how complacent you appeared to be before this unfortunate incident. Now however, if you cooperate, we will soon be rid of the whole mess. No one else need ever know.'  
  
I pursed my lips but said nothing. He continued.  
  
'First of all Weasly, you are not to speak of what transpired between you and Celia over the course of the past three months to any one.'  
  
'Yes' I said tersely. I had meant to follow it with sir, but somehow the words became lost in my mouth. Fudge didn't seem to have noticed.  
  
'Second, the sentencing hearing has been scheduled for Friday of next week. I do not want you near any of the fifth floor courtrooms on that day. Is that clear?'  
  
I paused for a moment. I considered telling him that he could banish me from the entire wizarding world if he wanted to, but nothing was going to stop me from going to that hearing. I wanted to tell him that even if he cared about nothing but his precious reputation, what happened to Celia still mattered to me, and I had every right to speak for her if I could. Looking back I should have said this, however, the only word I could think of were.  
  
'Yes sir.' Even these came out cold and numb in my mouth.  
  
'Very well then Weasly-' and he waved me out the door.  
  
I had never known the feeling of pure, unadulterated hatred. Not even for my father. Yet now when I thought of Fudge, the things he was willing to do to gain power, Worried more about his press release than the life of his daughter, when I thought of him a deep emotion quite like hatred stirred in me. I had an urge to defy every order that that man had given to me.  
  
I was no longer content to complacently watch events unfold around me. There were things that must be stopped before they began. I knew now, what I had to do. . . 


	12. The Confession

A/N: Again, I'm sorry about the delay, writers block. After the climax things just don't seem to come as smoothly.  
  
Chapter 12: The confession  
  
Friday of the following week came far too quickly for my liking. The days that otherwise might have crept by slowly, now that I was back to the mundane task of filing reports for the International magical cooperation department seemed instead to speed by like separated bolts of lightening. Each warning me of what I was about to do. The impossible  
  
It was common knowledge throughout the ministry, indeed throughout the entire nation, that once a case was sent to the department for the disposal of Magical Creatures, it was hopeless. The committee consisted of the same wizards that had been used before the days of you know who, and the department head Adalfus Viejen I swore was older than the ministry of magic it's self.  
  
All of these committee members were heavily pre-disposed against magical creatures of any kind. It had been hundreds of years since they had failed to execute a beast sent to them for sentencing. After all "Disposal of dangerous creatures" was the entire purpose of the department.  
  
I had never truly considered any of this before. The department for the disposal of magical creatures had been nothing more than a standing joke. What went on there was none of my concern. It was far below me to worry about such trivial matters as what became of a hipogryph or a theseral, or even a werewolf. Now, with Celia, all that had changed.  
  
The feeling that was stronger than guilt, or curiosity, was not dying out as I assumed it would. With every moment it grew, so that soon it was much stronger than nervous lightning bolts that came with the days leading up to the sentencing hearing. It was as I suspected, or perhaps as I feared. Love had blinded me from everything I had treasured before.  
  
And so it was love that led my feet, however slowly, down the fifth corridor. I stopped beside courtroom 10 where the hearing had been scheduled to take place. The incoherent mutterings of separated conversations inside the courtroom told me that the hearing had not yet begun.  
  
I opened the door and slipped in beside the back wall, careful to remain as inconspicuous as possible.  
  
I took a moment to view the room. This room was identical to court room 11 in which the initial review had been held. Though, I noted that the room was quite a bit more crowded than courtroom 11 had been.  
  
Wizards and Witches, some I did not even recognize, were forced to push through each other for seating. Though almost no one seemed uncomfortable with this arrangement. Indeed all of them were whispering excitedly to each other and gazing anxiously at the door as if waiting for the curtain to rise on some bizarre play.  
  
Two Wizards joined me in the back, standing only a few feet from the wall I had nearly plastered myself against to allow more people to file in. One man had a rather large camera draped about his neck, the other carried a small notebook with a quill.  
  
Reporters. I knew Fudge couldn't keep the story out of the press for long. The first werewolf execution in nearly 100 years was obviously front-page news. I barely had time to wonder if Fudge had been able to keep his "Special interest" in the case hidden, when the room fell silent.  
  
The door had opened. Committee members were beginning to enter the court room  
  
The committee took quite a while to be seated; this was no surprise as most of them were over the age of seventy-five.  
  
Finally Viejen, (requiring it seemed, the effort of all the other committee members combined), reached the podium at the front of the room. At his arrival, the court fell silent.  
  
'Bring in the defendant' he said exasperatedly.  
  
At these words a door just slightly to my right was opened. One of the guards I had seen at the dungeon door entered first, dragging Celia behind him with the rope that was still attached to her neck.  
  
The rope, hardly seemed necessary as she was walking quite willingly. Her eyes were steadily fixed on the floor. She appeared a good deal thinner since the last time I had spoken to her, and I could see through the curtain of thin blonde hair that she was sporting large bruises on her cheeks and forehead.  
  
As she passed me, I expected, (or perhaps hoped) for some sign of recognition. None came. Her eyes remained glued to the tiles on the floor as if her head had become too heavy to lift.  
  
The tall guard that had been at the first court review trailed behind them. He was fingering in his belt, the blade of an axe, the shine of which, nearly matched the glint of triumph in his eye. The executioner.  
  
Of course Mcnair was currently in Azkaban, having been discovered as a death eater. His replacement, however, seemed to have inherited his infamous ruthless nature.  
  
'Sentencing hearing 26th of June.' Viejen sighed in a reedy, exausted sort of voice.  
  
'Offences committed by Celia Oswald number 13 Charad Street' Here he directed attention vaguely to Celia who's eyes were still pressed to the floor.  
  
'Defendant admits to the rupture of the Code of Magical Beasts amendment ...' His voice dragged on. I fidgeted impatiently. Waiting.  
  
'...Thereby knowingly endangering the well being of herself and others. Confession to these crimes entered on the twelfth of June.' He paused for a long while. My heart stopped. There was always the fear that he wouldn't say it. That he wouldn't ask. It was required. However I knew by now that the right amount of gold from the right people could... But he would say it. No amount of gold could stop a mandate of the court. Still I couldn't be quite sure that he would ask...  
  
'Is there anyone present who can give evidence that the defendant is irresponsible for her own actions, and therefore cannot be executed for the aforementioned crimes of which she has been convicted?'  
  
'Yes. I can.' I said quickly, but very clearly so that they would not have an excuse not to hear me.  
  
A less serious person might have found the sight that followed my statement comical.  
  
Viejen made an indistinguishable noise at the sound of my voice, dropping his many papers on the ground and not bothering to pick them up. The mouths of over half the committee members hung open in either surprise or horror or a combination of the two. The onlookers began to whisper loudly and excitedly to each other once again.  
  
Celia, for the first time, lifted her head from the floor and turned it to the back of the room. Her expression was different from the committee members. She did not seem quite surprised, but rather more confused and apprehensive then I had ever seen her.  
  
'Er... very well,' Viejen said after a few moments. 'Will you...ehm... please approach the bench and...er... give your name for the record.' He was now bent down and fumbling to pick up his notes. This was obviously the last thing he could have expected.  
  
I walked forward, blinking as the reporter from the prophet snapped a picture. I silently congragulated myself on appearing so calm, while my heart and pulse were both pounding so quickly that I could easily have had a heart attack and dropped dead on the spot.  
  
Celia's eyes followed me steadily on the long track from the back of the room to the front. When I passed her, she opened her mouth as if to speak, but I looked at her and shook my head. It was not wise for a beast to comment in this court, even if it was capable of legitimate thought. Her eyes darted to the floor again  
  
'Your-your name then...' Said Viejen as I approached the bench still apparently flustered  
  
'Percy Ignatious Weasly.' I said  
  
'And how do you know the defendant?' Viejen asked  
  
'Through her father.' I said shortly. I was suddenly very aware of the many eyes fixed on me.  
  
'...And what is her father's name.' Viejen asked as if he didn't know. Even if the daily prophet had not been privy to the bombshell dropped at the initial court review, a high standing official like Viejen would certainly have read the court transcript from that night that I had written myself  
  
'Cornelius Oswald Fudge' I said.  
  
The reaction was as I expected. There were several rather loud gasps as a flurry of voices once more took hold of the court room.  
  
'Order in the court...' Viejen said. Still, it was a few moments before the commotion completely died out.  
  
'Very well then... tell us what you know.'  
  
I swallowed. I had planned this moment in my head since the past week. I knew what to say. I knew what I had to do. The things I would tell them about Fudge would completely absolve Celia from guilt. Even though speaking meant my career was over, I had to do it.  
  
Then why was it so difficult for me to open my mouth.  
  
'Well?... Speak up boy.' Viejen said impatiently.  
  
I nodded dumbly. Then, with a glance at Celia for reassurance, I began... 


	13. The Redemption of a Saint

A/N: Last Chapter! I hope you like it.  
  
Chapter 13: The Redemption of a Saint  
  
Try as I might I can never remember exactly what I said that day to the committee. I suppose I told them everything. Most likely beginning with the first day Fudge had asked me to take the potion to Charad Street. But the exact words I used have since faded completely.  
  
I do remember feeling relieved, that Fudge was not there to hear my account. The minister never attended hearings for this committee. It would have looked suspicious to change this pattern now. Even with the amount of media coverage this case was receiving.  
  
Complete silence in the courtroom accompanied my story to the end. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the daily prophet reporter scribbling away in his notebook looking quite pleased with himself, as if the entire ordeal had been his idea.  
  
Once I had finished it took quite a while for the court to find it's voice again. The silence was broken very hesitantly by more murmurings. Though they hardly sounded excited now. A shocked and quite apprehensive feeling seemed to have taken hold . Much like the expression that Celia still wore as she looked at me. For all that I could tell her gaze had not left me since the beginning. It was strange how this knowledge made everything seem much calmer.  
  
'Very- very well,' Viejen mumbled hesitantly once the courtroom had again, quieted down.  
  
'The committee will take one day's recess to take this new...er...evidence into account. We will meet back here at 4:00 Monday after noon.'  
  
'Sir!' The executioner interjected almost threateningly, looking rather put out. No doubt he had been planning on putting his axe to use by sunset.  
  
'Any problems arising with this new...ehm... situation may be dealt with in my private chambers. Court is adjourned.' Viejen said pointedly to the executioner, who was still scowling.  
  
More commotion from the court room as people rose from their seats to leave. The reporters were first to exit through the back doors, each of them attempting and failing to hide the excitement they felt at being the first to reveal this story to the world.  
  
Viejen stepped down from the bench. I saw him stop and converse briefly at the defendant's table with the two guards. I strained my ears to hear their conversation, but it was simply impossible with the ensuing commotion. It was less than a minuet before Viejen was once again setting off to his chambers with the executioner following in his wake.  
  
The other guard who had been left at the table with Celia, (who's eyes were once again focused on her feet), looked quickly in her direction then strangely up at me. Then with an almost relieved sigh, he took off at a near sprint after the other two. Soon all three of them had disappeared around the corner that led to Viejen's chambers.  
  
I thought of leaving then, decided against it. So I silently settled my self in one of the wooden benches close to her chair and waited for the room to completely empty. Waited until we were completely alone.  
  
This seemed to take hours. People were leaving two by two talking excitedly to each other about the unfolded events, or about where to go for dinner, or the outcome of the recent quidditch match, (Scotland vs. Italy). Finally the last pair began walking to the back of the room and then through the wooden double doors, leaving the courtroom completely silent, except for the odd shuffling sound of my feet scraping against the tile on the floor.  
  
For some reason I seemed to be more nervous now then I had been in front of the entire court. The shuffling noise was becoming quite annoying even to me, yet strangely I couldn't will myself to stop.  
  
If only she would say something.  
  
If only I COULD say something.  
  
If only it weren't so quiet.  
  
Then finally: 'You shouldn't have done that.' Celia said rather shakily her eyes still pressed to the floor  
  
'Yes, well. Least I could've done I suppose...' I said rather awkwardly.  
  
'No. I mean you really shouldn't have done that!' She said speaking much louder. She was looking at me now with a sincerely worried expression.  
  
'Now that this is out who knows what'll happen. Father's reputation will be ruined. Over 20 years of working his way up in the ministry dashed in 10 minuets. And with you know who back on the lose, a new minister is the very last thing any one needs...'  
  
I had heard these words before though I did not say that to her. She still didn't know the entire truth about her Father, what he had done. I had conveniently left out the conversation I had over heard a week before in the minister's office from my testimony. It wasn't necessary. She continued...  
  
'That's not to mention what will happen to you. You do realize that you might as well clean out your desk now? That is if your lucky. They just might find a way to drag you into this entire mess.'  
  
I knew by "they" she meant her Father. I knew what he could do to me. I was apprehensive, but still willing to take the punishment. I did not tell her this. I wanted her to continue to speak. I had never heard her talk as boldly as she now was, her voice was, not soft as I had known it to be, but strong...melodic. She continued:  
  
'I've heard stories of people that have spoken against the ministry, who've been shipped off to Azkaban on trumped up charges, or worse...' Her voice cracked as she put her hand to her mouth and turned away.  
  
'Celia...' I began hesitantly. 'Do you have any idea what they do to Creatures who come here?'  
  
She still refused to look at me. Though I could see that she was now biting her lip fighting to keep the water that filled her eyes from emptying onto her cheeks. She was in such a state that I thought it best not to detail the brutal beheading process. Instead I contented myself with saying:  
  
'You did see the axe he was carrying didn't you?' I saw her give a slight shudder. She was biting her lip so hard that I could see a small drop of blood issuing from it.  
  
'They would have killed you, Celia. They would have if I hadn't done something.' I moved closer to her. Now standing beside the chair where she sat.  
  
'Maybe...' She whispered after a moment. ' Maybe, it-it would have been better... if they had.'  
  
Her voice cracked again, the tears finally won the battle and fell freely down her face.  
  
I wanted to say something then. I should have. I should have told her that she was as good as any person I had ever known, perhaps better.  
  
I should have told her then that I loved her. But I couldn't even admit that to myself yet, how could I say it to her.  
  
I silently walked next to the chair at which she was sitting.  
  
'Better for one monster to die then to have an entire nation thrown into chaos. It would be horribly selfish of me to think anything else wouldn't it?' She asked. Her face still turned away from me.  
  
'Of course not' I said, though rather hallow.  
  
The irony in this was that, the sacrifice of one for the good of all had been one of my many mantras. Especially after my family joined with Dumbledore.  
  
Only now had I begun to doubt it.  
  
Even if Celia died, How long could one guarantee that Fudge would remain in power. With the return of You-Know-Who, it was almost inevitable that Fudge would be forced out of office weather Celia were alive or not. It was strange that I was just beginning to realize this as I moved to sit in the chair beside her.  
  
Now for some reason, her life; one single, solitary life; mattered more to me than the life of the ministry, my ideals, the entire Wizard race. Even my own existence seemed to take a back seat to hers.  
  
I listened to her sob very softly for a few more moments. Then with out realizing entirely what I was doing, I gently placed my arms around her shoulders. She tensed for a moment then, very hesitantly, she laid one hand on top of my own, barely stroking it with the tips of her fingers.  
  
It was impossible to say how long we stayed locked in this strange embrace.  
  
Maybe a second.  
  
Perhaps and hour.  
  
Then, the silence was broken by four pairs of footsteps. Celia straightened, suddenly and took her hand from mine. I could tell with out looking that her eyes had widened in fear.  
  
As we heard the footsteps growing louder she turned to face me. Leaning in so that our faces were barely two inches apart, she whispered urgently...  
  
'It might not have helped. But all the same...' As she said this she reached her hand up and softly aloud it to slide down the side of my face.  
  
'Thank you' She whispered. Then, she placed a warm kiss on my cheek.  
  
'Celia!' A very stern voice yelled from somewhere in the back as she pulled away from me.  
  
The footsteps had entered the court room. Viejen, the guard, the executioner and Fudge were all standing by the back double doors. The Minister looked quite livid. (Though weather he had seen the kiss or not it was impossible to tell).  
  
'Yes Fath-' Fudge gave her a deadly glare that I could never have expected from him.  
  
'Yes Minister' She corrected hastily standing up from her seat.  
  
Fudge motioned the executioner to her. He obeyed, and I could see as he came closer that the maniacal glint had returned to his eye.  
  
He took up the end of the rope that was tied around Celia's neck, and led her to the double doors that I could see Viejen and the other guard exiting from. Fudge allowed the executioner to go through the doors before him.  
  
I saw Celia turn and give me a small, sad smile before the executioner pulled on her rope, forcing her out of the courtroom. Once they were gone, Fudge fixed me with a look that clearly said "I'll deal with you later", before sweeping out of the court room.  
  
I was once again in the dark. Why would the minister himself escort Celia back to her dungeon? And what had she meant when she said "It might not have helped..."?  
  
Half dazed, I left the courtroom and Followed the sounds of the now five pairs of footsteps. It was a very short distance before they stopped. I caught my breath around the corner from where I could hear the door opening. With a pang, I realized that they had stopped directly across the hall from Celia's dungeon, room number 12.  
  
The door that was currently opening was the door to number 13.  
  
I heard it click closed. I took a step from behind the corner. I automatically headed for the doorknob. It was locked. Of course, why hadn't I expected as much. I reached for the wand hidden inside my pockets.  
  
'Alohamora' I whispered. It made no difference. The door remained locked.  
  
I was forced to remember vague days when my very status in the ministry would allow any doors to be opened for me. But those days were over. I made another vain attempt to turn the handle of the door, before giving up and sinking to the floor beside the door.  
  
As much as I strained my ears, I couldn't hear anything of what was taking place inside. The corridor around me was eerily silent.  
  
It was a few moments before I began to hear the faint sound of whispering from inside the room. I pressed my ears to the door but still could hear nothing of the conversation.  
  
Then suddenly the whispering stopped; I heard an indistinct sound (somewhere between a swish and a thud.), and then foot steps coming closer to the door.  
  
Hastily I retreated back behind the corner, where I would be blocked from view. I still do not know precisely why I did this. I already knew that my career was as good as over, and after the display he had witnessed in the courtroom, there was no use in pretending to the minister that I wasn't concerned for what happened to Celia.  
  
I still instinctively avoided the disapproval of authority figures, no matter what I thought of them. I knew I would still instinctively stand tall when the minister passed my way. I would still play the part of a ministry saint to my collegues. Even though now I considered myself an enemy of the administration. I was still an appalling coward.  
  
I plastered myself against the wall, careful not to be seen as I heard the door open and voices emerge from it.  
  
'Unfortunate. Dear, dear... I am really far too old for this job'. Came the reedy voice of Viejen.  
  
'Yes...yes... a shame. You remember of course not to mention ...?' Fudge's voice trailed off.  
  
'What? Oh of course dear boy. If there's one thing this job's taught me it's never dwell on the unpleasant.'  
  
'Good, good' Fudge added hastily. Their foot steps trailed off.  
  
I didn't understand. What was unfortunate, what was a shame, what was unpleasant? A thought did spring to mind... I remembered the sound. A swish then a thud. Almost like the sound of an axe...  
  
No. They wouldn't.  
  
Fudge, pompous and cold as he was couldn't watch... couldn't mandate something like...  
  
But the room was number 13. The Executioner did have that sparkle in his eye as he led her away...  
  
No. No! It wasn't possible. She'd been relocated that was all.  
  
I moved to the door. Again, I attempted fruitlessly to turn the handle.  
  
Celia was in there. Alive. She had to be.  
  
Maybe they were torturing her. I had to get to her.  
  
But why didn't I hear her. If she was inside the room why, even from the door did it sound so silent?  
  
So hollow? So...  
  
dead?  
  
**  
  
Fudge never did get the chance to "Deal" with me as he would have liked to. The daily prophet article detailing the hearing was front page news on the following day. The press attention from the article gave him no time to hurriedly dismiss me from the Ministry all together.  
  
The ordeal at the sentencing hearing, coupled with the return of You-know- who put the minister in a very unpopular light.  
  
It was not long before he himself was appearing before the Wizengammot, attempting to account for his actions.  
  
I have also receiving quite a bit of media attention. More than I had anticipated at least.  
  
Apparently the public cannot get enough of the ministry insider who had risked his career in favor of his conscience. I have to admit that it does sound rather heroic on paper and I won't deny that I quite enjoy it. After two years of basically being ignored in the ministry, it's quite nice to be in the lime light.  
  
The contents of my morning post went from containing bills and Ministry orders, to containing stacks of fan mail.  
  
One such letter, I remember quite vividly, was from my Mother.  
  
The parchment was tearstained as she told me about how she had read the article in the daily prophet. She wrote about how proud she was of me and how much the family missed me. In the end she pleaded with me to come home  
  
The letter is still sitting on my kitchen table, unanswered.  
  
I've tried of course to write a response. But somehow the words always seemed wrong. Besides going back to the burrow would be like admitting defeat. A concept I still shudder to think of.  
  
I know I should go back. Maybe someday I will.  
  
Not another word was spoken about Celia, or the continuation of her sentencing hearing. No one has seen her since the day of her sentencing hearing.  
  
In all the commotion about Fudge, she seems to have disappeared into the back round. Which, as I constantly remind myself, is what Fudge wants.  
  
To be rid of her. No matter what the cost.  
  
Of course there are the usual low brow gossipers gibbering about the case.  
  
All of them seem to think that she disappeared, right under the ministries nose.  
  
Like Dumbledore and Sirius Black, she apparently made a daring escape involving a complicated potion and, of course, fire.  
  
I listen to the rumors, however implausible they seem. I like to believe them.  
  
I like to think of her somewhere out in the open air. Riding on the wings of some great horse, always remaining one step ahead of the ministry. I like to think of her free.  
  
I like to think that room number 13 in the ministry's fifth corridor doesn't exist, that I never heard the thud or the swish of an axe.  
  
I like to think that one day, a long time from now, she will come back.  
  
Once You-know-who, and Fudge, and Viejen, and Dumbledore have disappeared. I will see her again.  
  
Even if it's impossible. Even if it is not true.  
  
I like to believe it.  
  
Sometimes I walk down Charad Street.  
  
I find myself going there more and more frequently. Perhaps it's habit. Perhaps I'm waiting for her. Perhaps I'm looking for the redemption that I will never find. The redemption that was not meant for saints.  
  
I walk on the gravel beside the over grown pavement. Shiver beneath the large leaves that hide the light, and stop just outside her mansion.  
  
It is quieter now then it has ever been. The golden polish on the façade seems to have been tarnished. The cherubims no longer laugh. There are no strange sounds issuing from the trees.  
  
It is as if the street has lost its life. It's mystery.  
  
As I stand and stare at the address that once held such fear for me, I can only feel a slight churning in the pit of my stomach. The numbers have not changed as they should have. Carved in marble above the house front the address remains:  
  
Number 13, Charad Street 


End file.
